On October 4, 2009, I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia (AML). My wife, Phyllis, who is an RN at the local VA hospital, was my primary caregiver. We had recently married on Sunday, September 13, 2009.
On February 22, 2010, I received a bone marrow transplant from a donor.
And this RN, who treated veterans from WW2, Korea, Vietnam, Desert Storm, Desert Shield, and Afghanistan, had little if any resistance from a lawyer and law professor; non-compliance and surrender were not options.
In April 2015, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. A few weeks later, she underwent two four-hour surgeries. Post-surgery, I would be her primary caregiver. We had the same oncologist and hematologist. And it wasn’t uncommon for us to have “team appointments,” going to Tennessee Oncology together for labs, bloodwork, and even finding ourselves on gurneys across from each other! We often tease one another about who had the most “platelets!”
Unfortunately, on June 25, 2018, we learned that Phyllis’s cancer had returned, metastasizing to her brain from her chest wall. She entered hospice, a heartbreaking decision that will never heal.
During her stay, we would renew our wedding vows, exchanging rings and the promise of an endless love. The hospice chaplain was our officiant with friends, family, and medical staff in her room.
On Wednesday, July 18, 2018, my Phennie entered into eternal peace at 9:13 a.m.
She loved the films “Ghost” and “Somewhere in Time.” And it wasn’t uncommon for her to say “ditto” to me. And I would give her a brand-new penny every New Year.
On her gravestone, above her name, reads the following in bold letters and quotations:
“Ghost” “Ditto” “Somewhere in Time”
We fought cancer together. I would not have survived these 15 remarkable years without her encouragement, carrying me each day to the Sarah Cannon (Minnie Pearl) Cancer Center in Nashville. She held my hand during the 13 bone marrow biopsies and difficult chemotherapy and behavioral health therapy sessions.
But it was she who showed me what courage, heroism, and a faith in God that I’d never known.
The song “Unchained Melody” still brings me to my knees and my eyes a flowing river of tears.
Survivor's guilt is real. But it was in her death and battle with multiple forms of cancer that I’ve learned to live.
We would always say, “We may have cancer, but cancer will never have us!!!”
She lives on in the foundation created in her name and my commitment to help others, especially spouses who have battled cancer along with their spouses.
Michael
acute myeloid leukemia (AML)
