Secret Keeper

I am a secret keeper for others. The space in a therapy room or by a patient bed, where I learn what others don’t know. Sometimes words afraid to speak. I’m not a doctor but I know death. I know when doctors say months, they often mean weeks. Weeks, they often mean days. I don’t know it all and sometimes I’m wrong. But when the two knocks of cancer hit my family’s door, my secret knowledge, my fears, consume me like a wild fire that can’t be calmed. I know my reactions to news, to signs and symptoms, can be easy to read. The secret keeper becomes the stealer of hope.

When the oncologist calls at 9pm to tell us the cancer has metastasized in his lungs and growing, slowly but surely, I think I know the path ahead. I see the timeline in my mind. The milestones that will be lost – graduation? weddings? birthdays? Who knows?

I know what loss looks like. A snake or tiger waiting in the grass, when it emerges, the movement is electric and fatal. 80% chance that of the “good” type of metastasis – prostate cancer in the lungs. This means the “good” chemotherapy that will bald my silver fox and put him on his knees at the toilet throwing up toxins. Or the 20% “bad chemo” - what the hell does that look like? A road to ripping dignity from person and family. Crippling life, finances, hopes, dreams.

So, when we tell our daughter, the holder of family emotions and our son, the master of logic, my instinct is to blurt out “it’s not so bad. It’s just a little thing. Not to worry, good chemo is easy.” Meanwhile, every wasting patient I know, bodies losing weight, mobility, being in hospital bed, CPR, pain, all flash between my eyes.

I am the holder of reality, biased by professional experience. I’m keeping the train moving in the right direction of least suffering possible. Plan for his future, my future, my kids’ future, feeling like an ass for planning for death. Reminding myself that I’m not God, I’m not a doctor. I’m not the next medical cure that will take us from desert to sunshine.

I’m just a girl, losing a boy, with her heart breaking. A girl that doesn’t want to be alone and doesn’t know what is like behind the mirror. What I can see, what I can’t see, what I know, what I don’t. The secrets kept behind the curtain. The joy-killer who is at the door. A secret keeper who only knows so much, not enough, wanting to know so much more.