The problem with illness

Probably in light of the fact that the anniversary of A first being diagnosed with cancer four years ago is this Sunday and the fact that he's due to have new tumor removed just days before that, I've been ruminating on what going to the doctor means for him as a pilot. It means wondering every time if the medication he's prescribed is on the FAA no-go list. It means constantly wondering if every ear ache, muscle strain or broken toe is going to disqualify him from working for a time. Or forever. It means trying to remember every doctor visit he had in the last year so he can list it for his FAA medical. It means being careful and discrete how things are worded so they don't end up being used against him later. It means being forced to take time off work when others could just work through their illness. It means trying to convince our insurance provider that yes, he does need the $3000 a pop shot because the traditional testing method would mean he was out of work for 12 weeks A YEAR. I'm beginning to understand why A hates going to the doctor.

A's barely told anyone about his upcoming surgery. He hardly even talks about it to me. I know he's got a lot bottled up inside that he: doesn't want to admit, wants to shield me from, wants to pretend is not happening. I don't blame him- I don't know if I'm ready to be "the girl who's husband has cancer" again any more than he's ready to be "the guy with cancer" again. I've stopped worrying about it all because there is nothing my worrying can do. The tumor is there. Either its cancerous or it isn't. Worrying or praying isn't going to change what already IS. But I have laid it out at God's feet and asked for the strength to get through whatever the result brings us.