Then, after four years, the noose no longer held her. A clinical trial in October last year offered hope of destroying it within eight weeks. A new course of chemotherapy offered the possibility of remission, which did not happen. Julie and I had planned a trip to Australia and New Zealand for this fall, the five-year-old, but I hadn’t counted on it.
Always joking, Julie started to joke here and there about dying, and seemed to invite a series of conversations I didn’t want to have. It was not even five years ago. I wasn’t ready.
But I had learned to follow up on such openings during my mother’s bout with lung cancer. I remember one time my mother asked, “Will it be painful to die?” and I replied, “What do you want for dinner tonight, Mom?”
With Julie I wanted to do better, so I followed her lead. She, Jay, and I began a series of conversations about finances, medical decisions, and what “the end” might be. She was focused and calm. I hated every minute. But what I really hated was the virulent cancer.
Julie just turned 60 and even after the loop she is very much alive. Riding a bike on Long Island with her best friend, she still plans trips home and abroad, researching a Hail Mary clinical trial. Last May, the whole family spent a week in Nags Head, North Carolina, locked in a creaky old house, as a nor’easter whirled around us. We have cooked. We played card games. No one cheated! (Not even Julie.)
But her blood work is looking more and more ominous, she’s taking more naps and we’re not going to Australia and New Zealand this fall. Instead, I visit as often as I can, to make as many memories as possible.