My husband is dying

 My husband is dying.

That's a bit dramatic, right?  Aren't we all?

Yup, we are.  And if you know us or have read anything I have written within the last three years, you probably know that he has cancer.

A bad cancer.

Now, don't get me wrong, I really don't think there is a good one.

There are all sorts of cancer and from my experience, they all effect people differently, as do the treatments.

The problem with Ted's cancer is that it is not curable.

Treatment is out there for it, and a lot more of them are being developed and approved all the time, but not a single one has been known to actually cure multiple myeloma.  

What SUCKS about this cancer is that it is a plasma cell cacner that effects the bones and blood.  You can't actualy remove those items in the guise that it removes the cancer.  Not possible.  Yet, I suppose.

Although, we did come close to do that with a stem cell transplant that him about 10 more months, so there is that.

Anyways... CANCER SUCKS!

And my husband is dying.

There is no more treatment that is available to him that would benefit him in any way shape or form.

None.

We could play with different combinations of ones he has already tried that his cancer has laughed at and said "nice try, but not this time buddy!"  But here's the thing...

Would you want to spend what is left of your life trying all sorts of combinations of drugs your cancer has rejected in the teeny tiny miniscule hope that it may perhaps buy you a day or two extra of life even if that life is not being lived because you are debilitated from said drugs?

God knows, has always known, when each of us will lose our earthly shells.

The free will he has given us allows us to chose how we want to spend that time before that experation date. 

Some of us will never get that opportunity to think about and actually do some of the things you've always wanted to before that time was up as God keeps our expiration dates well hidden from us.

Others, like my husband, have been able to see it approaching for years.

Still holding out hope that the more medication that is tried the further that date will get pushed back.

But that isn't how this works.

If you've made it this far, you may be wondering what in the world is going on.

What changed from yesterday to today?

A timeline.

Ted's doctor is not God.  We know that.  He knows that.  

In his opinion, experience, and expertise, my husband has around 6 months to a year left of life.

Phone calls have been made.

People have been notified.

And my husband is dying.

Do you all know how difficult it is for me to watch all of this?

To be a participant in it?  Knowing from the date of diagnosis that there never was a cure?  

Trying with all my might and then God's to hold onto any shred of hope while still attempting to protect myself from daily heartbreaks?

Daily. 

I may seem jaded with this.

Those are the walls that have had three years of construction on them, getting added reinforcements every time a medication stopped working.

I may seem strong.

That strength you see is God, not me.

God knows the time of Ted's final hour.

I need to remember to breath it all in. 

To be thankful for every smile, hug, kiss, snore, and frustion.

Because one day, before I am ready, those things will be gone.