CANCER DRUMS. Spend the Night with a Caregiver.
Cancer…rattle, shake, pop. Don’t forget about the cancer…pop, crack, shake. Are you thinking about the cancer yet?…shuffle, oomph, rattle…gulp. She squinched her eyes just enough for the clock on her bedside table to whisper that is was 2am. The bedroom was black and still. A murky silence hung in the atmosphere and muffled her ears. The stillness stiffened her body as she listened for his breath. Quietly she rolled onto her side, rubbing her eyes in a tired attempt to see through the blanket of darkness in front of her. Slowly, gradually, his silhouette appeared.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, bare feet on the floor, his water bottle in his hand. He leaned forward, reaching towards the prescription bottles that scattered his bedside table. Like tiny drums, the round, hollow bottles sat silent, waiting for their maestro. His hand searched through the darkness for the familiar amber bottles, his tired fingers bumping the edge of the table, tipping and teetering the untuned drums…boom, rattle, oomph, crash. She lay still, softly closing her eyes in hushed prayer. The bottles shifted and clacked as he composed and silenced them. He picked up a single bottle and turned the cap…pop. Checking the label, reviewing the notes, he turned the drum upside down…shake, rattle, rattle. In the darkness she watched his hand move towards his mouth as he swallowed the tiny pill, fulfilling his oncologist’s instructions. Wistfully, with the edge of her pillowcase, she dried her wet eyes and tried to silence the askew percussion that was replaying in her mind.
Night after night he woke, quietly mindful of her slumber. He moved cautiously through their bedroom in an effort not to wake her. He used the bathroom down the hall so the light would not interrupt her sleep. But she was always awake. Sometimes she would reach for him in the darkness, her fingers would graze his back, comforting him…or maybe just comforting her.
He held her heart and he loved her; the drum kept beating… For three years the cancer drums had played their jolted, off-key song, jarring her senses and misleading their days. She wondered if his drums were as loud as hers? She slept on the surface, wanting to be there if he needed her. His amber pill bottles were only one of the drums that rattled her awake at night, tapping her shoulder, reminding her of his pain. Yet, beyond the band, between the rolling beat and illogical thumping remained pieces of carefree moments, uninhibited laughter, and thoughtless, unshackled freedom. Then without warning, perpetually, the distorted drum beat would show up…rattling its cancer tune…making her want to cover her ears. She was strong, but as weak as ever. She closed her eyes and searched for sleep.
Only three short hours ago they had unmade their bed and laid together in prayer, dismissing the unpleasant moments and thanking Jesus for the precious ones. She was grateful for the silence and for the coddling. Her time spent embraced by His grace had softened the drums. She had prayed for earplugs and He had delivered. The heartbeat of cancer was distorted and askew, the earplugs were her filter, tuning the fearful boom into a melody; a soul song. But many times the earplugs would fall out and the distorted drums would roll, boom, and crash back in.
The rhythmic clatter of the cancer drums were often unavoidable. The rattle of prescription bottles, the phone calls and texts of appointment reminders, the medical bills, the scans, the weekly blood draws, the repetitive questions…the relentless percussion played on. Sometimes the drums would bang so loud that she would fall to her knees. Those moments were desperate, breathtaking, and real. Her small breakthroughs had expanded the distance to her edge. She knows that the drums will never completely go away; they may not always be cancer drums, but there will be drums. She asks Jesus everyday for earplugs, not to muffle the music, but to silence the distortion. There is life in the music, and beautiful music in life. She longs for the melody.
