Man Does Not Live on Bread Alone

A dear friend Vince whose wife had FBC sent this story to me. Though not about FBC per say, it does make you realize that once you’ve had FBC, it’s never far from your thoughts. His note was so beautiful that, with his permission, I am honored to share it with you. To me, it beautifully illustrates the difficult – and often painful – position of being a caregiving partner.

“Man does not live by bread alone.  A household functions on shared duties.  When one’s wife breaks her wrist and is found barely audible from the shock, writhing from the pain on the kitchen floor as I arrive home, the caveman in me takes over. Men since boyhood are inured with a combat posture, it seems. Got to get her out of the cave–take her to an emergency room–she needs attention fast!

Being overly-sociable, I  waded through the process of hospital bureaucracy with the tenacity of hot-foot repartee answering in rapid fire each query.  Well, in retrospect, I felt the same angst in her breast cancer recovery– alas all the paperwork involved–but always knowing she would also make it.  Her nature would just will danger away!  She was headed home replete in sling.

Later in blurred fashion after the next day’s operation–on of all days, Valentine’s– she arrives back home.  Bedridden!  Bedridden?  So of late since  I have learned about duties women take for granted and are better suited than I am to complete.  Friends bring over truckloads of food. I become “Mom.”  Miraculously I find talents I never knew I had.

She rests getting better everyday.  The painkillers have worn off.  Gladly, she remembers me from the painless fog.  I stand ready.  My orders in place.

As she awakes each day, a little bit better; her wrist still wrapped in the newfangled cast. Her “thank you” resonates like an echo of gratitude one never expects to hear, at a time when such duties are inate–like that of a caveman’s–making do at something so basic that a thank you is its own profound reward.

Life is actually a sacred process,  so I knew she would endure. Her work with a local church would pre-ordain it. Her radiant beauty still shines; her blue eyes are like cut crystals–with her upheld arm–ready to keep me in line.

No one ever said life was easy, nor are such recoveries. The operative word here is recovery.  I never want to get such a phone call like that again–its inaudible plea–seared into my consciousness.  But with love as a third partner healing becomes a foolproof bond of recovery.”

Thank you, Vince, for your kind generosity in sharing your story with The Silver Pen!