Matthew and Cancer: Wolverine (Part 1)
It’s been three months since Matthew passed away. Three months. In some ways, it seems like yesterday we were at hospice, and in other ways, it was a lifetime ago.
Let me back up for those who may not be familiar with what happened. Matthew, my husband, best friend, and business partner for close to 22 years, passed away March 1, 2025. He’d fought cancer for nearly 7 years, and it’s a fight, ultimately, nobody could possibly win. Though he tried.
Not only did he fight cancer like a wolverine, but he also protected me from the worst part of the diagnosis. The part where the doctors told him the cancer had spread to his brain. I didn’t know that until after he passed.
I didn’t know it’d spread to his brain until after he hallucinated hamburgers. And, after I’d talked to his oncologist on the day Matthew died, who told me it was one of the worst cases she’d ever seen. She is a major leader in cancer treatment, sitting on former President Biden’s Cancer Advisory Board, and head of her field at Hopkins. Yet it was one of the worst cases she’d seen. That didn’t make me feel better.
In fact, Hopkins was why we moved to Baltimore. We were living in Florida, and Matthew was looking at whether to undergo the surgery his doctors were recommending. It promised to be awful surgery, and Matthew didn’t want to do it. He researched everything — including who the best doctors were who specialized in the surgery. A doctor at Johns Hopkins was the clear leader, and when Matthew asked his potential surgeon in Florida about Dr. Effron at Hopkins, his Florida doctor said, “he trained me.” We moved shortly after, to be blocks from Hopkins in East Baltimore.
Matthew’s cancer was the reason for everything we did, in the end. Every major decision we made. When one person in a couple has a life-threatening disease, decisions are made differently.
Matthew recovered from the initial 11-hour surgery for one year. Yes. It took ONE YEAR for Matthew to recover from that initial surgery. And, even after that time, he wasn’t fully healed. Far from it. He had trouble with infections, and they had to do a second surgery to clear out one stubborn area. That would result in what we called “the gaping wound”, and that wound would remain until he died. Well, not quite. About a week before he died, Matthew told me the gaping wound had finally healed. Ironic.
The second round of cancer came back after his gaping wound surgery, about a year and a half after his major operation. This time, the cancer was lodged in the bladder, close to his pelvic bone. It was inoperable.
His urologist described what we should expect. It wasn’t pretty. It included loss of bladder function. It included — well — we should expect a hard road. That conversation took place right before a scheduled trip to Europe. Matthew had always wanted to take a train trip around Europe. Since he’d recovered sufficiently from the initial surgery, coping only with the gaping wound, I booked the trip. Then he went for routine testing prior to the vacation — and his cancer markers were through the roof. Three days before we were to leave for the trip, his urologist sat us down and told us the news. He also said, when asked if we should cancel the trip, “No. GO!”
So, we went. We were more than a little scared symptoms would start right away. A little afraid we’d be in Europe, and Matthew would have a medical emergency. But we went anyway. We decided if not now, when? We knew the answer to that question. If not now, never.
We decided to live with cancer, and not let the cancer dictate how we would live. And Matthew would continue to tell everyone he simply fell off his scooter. He refused to let anybody worry about him. Now that he’s passed, I have mixed feelings about that privacy. I understand it. Maybe I’d be the same way. Or maybe I’d tell everyone within 8 seconds of meeting them that I had inoperable cancer. I’m not sure. It could go either way. But Matthew told nobody. Or nearly nobody. And that made for a lonely road. For both of us.
To be continued. I’m crying again.
