Bravery of Our Men.The Need to Share and the Need to Know.

After my last blog, I had a great many readers writing to me, identifying with my sentiments and feelings. Some said they felt validated and that it was good to hear someone else saying what they themselves felt and thought. Men and women in the groups wrote and I want to say Thank you to each and every one of you.

2 plus years ago, when I began blogging, it was so that I could let family and friends who were being fed lies and stories about me, my side, the truth. They all lived far from me and I had no way of visiting and giving my side of what was going on. After David’s diagnosis, I changed what I wrote and used the blog to vent my feelings, my fears, anger and sadness at prostate cancer, with a little ‘c’, along with the other scary things going on in my life. A cathartic experience and one I use with my clients. It worked for me and I soon found , worked for others, seeing that actually, they were not alone in their fears.  I have blogged every week since. Last week I wrote to highlight how we, us ladies, are affected by our husband’s illness and hopefully others who identified with my feelings were comforted by the fact that we, or most of us, feel the same. The feedback has shown this to be true. This was one blog David wanted to read and did so with tears in his eyes. It opened up a conversation that was enlightening if not a bit sad.

My husband, had not really talked much about how he felt, during the waiting, the surgery or post recovery. But he said he was very much aware of what it was doing to me. So, hid that well didn’t I?But the one thing he does say now, is that he ‘had’ cancer, never that he has it. Positivity being his middle name. During the 1st year on this journey, the first PSA test that began the horrors and gave a hint as to what was to come, David showed no worry, no fear, his pragmatism at times, made me angry. How could he be so calm? Our world had been turned on its head, our future dreams put on hold, our future was even less certain that it had ever been before. How could he be like this? I never showed my fear outwardly but felt it inside fiercely. But that was where we differed. As readers will know I was a wreck, waiting for the tests, having the biopsy, the MRI, the endless waiting for results. No one seemed in a hurry to find out the next step, apart from me! I hid my feelings very well, except on here. I shouted, cried, vented my fear, anger, sadness and absolute terror, in my blog, every week. David took it all in his stride . Showed no anxiety, being a ‘we are where we are ‘ kinda guy. ‘Whatever happens, we will face it together as we always do’ ‘It’ll be okay’. How could we face what we don’t know? How could we face something so huge, so horrid? How could it ‘be okay’?

The day of the final diagnosis, that horrible day that is etched in my memory and will possibly stay there, I was falling apart, felt faint, terrified and David, on leaving the office of the man who had ,to me, given us the worst news ever ‘You have cancer’, to the man I loved, sitting calmly next to me, was not showing anything that gave me a clue as to how he felt. He had stood up and thanked the consultant. Yes thanked him! Then suggested we go and do the weeks shopping! To say I was overwhelmed is an understatement. It was like I was in some kind of nightmare, a cruel , nasty, life threatening nightmare. All I could think was that my man, my rock, the one I had loved for over 30 years might die. Nothing about this day was ‘okay’.And so we went shopping. I have written about this in detail in earlier blogs.

It appeared at this time that David had not thought about that, that he might die. Perhaps he wouldn’t let himself, I don’t know but at that time, I know he didn’t voice it. Would voicing it have made it more real? Possibly. But to me, it was already far too real. The following months, I was trying to be strong, trying not to show my emotions but David knew me too well. He would reassure me that we would beat this unwelcome visitor, he was not worried at all. For me, the ‘what ifs’ were having their best days ever to that point. The scenarios played out in my head were so scary that I wasn’t actually coping very well. I had just ended therapy with 2 clients and did not take anyone else on. I was not in the right place to try to help others when I couldn’t help myself. I needed all my strength to be there for David, even if he didn’t appear to need it. I came up here, to my ‘safe place’ my study, looking out over the most beautiful scenery, that I had not been able to appreciate  at that time and poured my fears out on here, blogging everything and anything that was happening in my life. It was for me, at first, but  has been helping others, I have been told. That was the bonus.

During those first months, David just got on with his life, our life, like nothing was wrong. Showed no fear, no worry and verbalized no ‘what ifs’. Just being strong, dependable David, the man who loved me and whom I love with every ounce of my being. The days leading up to the surgery, my mind was a mess. I tried hard not to think about it but that was impossible. David seemed to be oblivious to what was ahead. It was almost as if, he had forgotten or was not thinking about surgery, the dangers, if there were any. Not thinking of the operation at all. We are incredibly close, best friends and yet I didn’t see it. See what he hid so well. Just didn’t see it. Why didn’t I see it?? See that deep down inside, that although he assured me he was fine, he wasn’t scared, that he would be okay, actually he, at times, wasn’t. Okay I mean.Why and how did I not see what was evident after the surgery and now seems to have been staring me in the face.

I remember waiting to go in and see him after surgery, the very longest day of my adult life, he was still coming round and we were told all went well. I sat by his bed and he reached for my hand, eyes still shut . The nurse had said he should have come round by this time, which was a worry as he seemed still out of it. Oh how I wished we had never had that first test. That we could un-know what we knew, un-hear the words of the consultant; these things had gone round and round in my head whilst waiting to see my beloved man awake. Then I would not be thinking he might die, he might not survive surgery, the first he had ever undergone. But then, slowly, eyes still shut, he reached for my hand and placed it on his lips. That brought long-awaited tears and I knew that he would be okay, would come home to me soon. 

This past week, after he had read last weeks blog, we talked a great deal about the past few years. Talked of the added pressure of the nasty family stuff going on at the same time and how that had made me ill, already low, before cancer came barging into our lives. But mostly we talked of my fear of losing him. Of how I would come on here, read all the Facebook stories of men having treatment, sadly some of them losing their battle, some surviving. I only shared the positive with him, not anything else at that time. We talked of how many men are diagnosed too late and he said how lucky he felt, having a GP who did a routine tests. I shared how I often wished he had never had that test, in the early days, but was now so grateful that he had, because it had found the cancer before it could do more damage. I told him of how scared I had been that I could lose him. He smiled and said he had never thought that, not in the years leading up to surgery but then admitted something I had not seen. That he had, in the few days before having the operation, been scared he wouldn’t wake up after the anaesthetic. He said he had never been afraid of any illness, but before the operation to remove the prostate, he admits to having been scared of not waking up, he was just afraid of leaving me, on my own. I felt awful, lacking in some way that he had not been able to share his fears with me. He had kept them to himself and gone down to theatre thinking that he might die and worrying about me. How awful is that. But then I thought of other times he has kept things to himself. I think I have talked of this in another blog, not sure. He surprised me by saying he was glad we are now saying he ‘had PC’ and not that he has it. He doesn’t like me using the words sufferer or victim in reference to him. He had never thought of himself as either. He had something ‘bad’ inside of him and it had to go. That was when I had likened it to being a piece of bad fruit in a fruit bowl, you leave it and it will contaminate all the other fruit, take it out , you will save the fruit in the bowl. He liked that. So this piece of bad fruit had to go, the decision was made.  When I asked him why he didn’t tell me of his fear, why he seemed so strong, so brave, he said it was to protect me. To stop me worrying about how he was coping. He said that he knew how hard the previous years had been , all the pain and worry, inflicted on me by my daughter and sister, he didn’t want to give me anymore. He loved me too much for that. This lead to a conversation about sharing the good and the bad in a relationship and how he had always taken on my fears and worries as his own. We have now agreed that he will talk to me more, tell me if he is afraid. 32 years together, nothing will shake our love and I think we are past trying to impress each other with our ‘bravery’ don’t you?

So he hadn’t told me, didn’t want to worry me but I also think it is because ‘men’ don’t talk about things that worry them. Admit to being afraid. Our men are brought up to be the strong ones in a relationship, or at least they did in our generation. Big boys don’t cry’ mentality. Well actually, they do. Not often enough in my estimation but cry they do and they must. We, the women, in their lives, need to encourage this in all areas of our lives. As mothers, as sister, daughters and wives and partners. I lost a son-in-law, many years ago, aged 29 to suicide, if I had known how he was feeling, if he had told any of us, maybe he would still be here.  If I have learned anything it is this. We need to encourage and allow the men in our lives, to tell us anything. Share anything. Their fears, their worries, their ‘anythings.’

For all the men going through this horrible illness, PC, I commend you. Maybe you are afraid to voice your fears. Maybe you don’t understand your fears. Maybe, like me, your partners/families don’t know how you feel. If you can talk to someone, let them know how you feel, that is the bravest part of being a man. Please tell us your ‘anythings’.If you can’t, my thoughts are with you all.

So this week has been enlightening and I am glad to have been able to share all of this with my husband. He had these fears  and didn’t share them because he was protecting me. I think that brave and strong and unselfish.He took it all on his own shoulders and spared me his fears. As the saying above states, being brave when he is afraid, is bravery indeed.

Thankyou for reading x

Author: carolannwright

I am a Cognitive Behavioural Psychotherapist and author. I live on a beautiful smallholding near the Welsh coast with my husband, daughter and ponies, dogs, cats and ducks. An wonderful peaceful place to live. I have a Masters in Counselling CBT and run my own private practice where I see a diverse group of clients. View all posts by carolannwright