I had just finished playing a round of golf with LPGA great Laura Davies in Portland, Oregon, when I called home to check in with Hayley. She had had a doctor’s appointment that morning and I was wondering how it went. Something strange had shown up on her mammogram, and the doctor just wanted to make sure it was not serious. I thought, of course, that it would be nothing. She was young and as healthy as a horse, and bad things don’t happen to good people.

    I could tell by her voice that something was definitely wrong. I cut my trip short, headed to the airport, and caught the next flight home. She met me at the plane, and that is where she told me that she was headed for surgery. They needed to remove the lump that was, by the way, cancer!

    I held her tight and told her that this would be another hurdle in our lives that we would just have to clear. “No big deal,” I told her. “They’ll just remove the lump and we will be on our happy way!” I like to think of myself as a positive person, especially when it comes to health. It’s most likely due to my Christian Science upbringing and having a doctor for a dad and a nurse for a mom—but that’s a whole other story.

    But later that night, the fear started to seep into my brain. The voices in my head started to ask terrifying questions:

1. •What if it is more than just a lump?
   

2. •Will she have to lose her breasts?
   

3. •How am I going to take care of her and work?
   

4. •How will our lifestyle change?
   

5. •Will this disease take her like it did her mother?
   

6. •How will I go on if it does?
   

    When the day of her surgery finally came, we checked her into the hospital. In my mind it was still going to be a simple little lumpectomy followed by some simple medications, and everything would be back to the same old same old. It wasn’t until she was rolled into surgery on that gurney that it started to hit me that this was serious stuff. The doc said, “See you in about an hour.”

    Well, two-plus hours later, she finally came out and told me this:

1. a.They had removed the lump.
   

2. b.There was more cancer—out of the 12 lymph nodes they had harvested, 7 had cancer.
   

3. c.Hayley was going to have to go through chemotherapy and radiation.
   

This was not what I wanted to hear. Luckily, the wall was there to hold me up. As the doctor went on about how “the surgery went well and blah, blah, blah,” all I heard was “CANCER” and “LYMPH NODES” and “CHEMOTHERAPY” and “RADIATION.” These are not words one wants to hear associated with one’s soul mate. The fear-motivated questions that had tormented me the night I first got the news started echoing around in my brain. Fortunately for me, a couple of our best friends were there to help me cope with the shocking news.

    As Hayley was rolled into her recovery room, a whole new batch of issues began to fog my mind. We called them the “Unknowns”—questions like this:

1. •How is this chemo stuff going to effect Hayley—and by the way, just what in the hell is chemo anyway?
   

2. •Radiation? Doesn’t that stuff kill you? Atomic bombs and the like?
   

3. •How long will these treatments go on?
   

4. •Where will we have to go for all these treatments?
   

5. •Can we afford them?
   

6. •How many more doctors will she need to see?
   

And when we asked these Unknowns, the doctors always answered, “Well, you know, everyone is different.” Fat lot of good that did us!

    Don’t get me wrong—Hayley’s doctors are some of the best medical professionals around, and they are wonderful people as well. I just wanted definite answers. The problem was that the definite answer actually was “Everyone is different.”

    Our little journey had really begun in earnest. I sat by her side for the chemotherapy (which her oncologist explained to me was basically poison—some of it so deadly that the administering nurse has to take special precautions, because if it were to get on her skin, it would eat a hole into it!). Helped her drain her pocket buddy (you don’t want to know.) Told her she looked beautiful bald (and really meant it!). Stood beside her for follow-up surgeries. Took her to Home Town Buffet when that was the only food that sounded good to her. Fended off the hundreds of well-wishers who wanted to talk to her when she just wanted to rest. Just sat and held the hand of the woman I loved more than ever.

    You really get to know who your friends are when your wife gets cancer. Some friends at my work got together and started a dinner exchange—at least once a week, someone brought some goodies for me to take home to Hayley. That was awesome! Friends would help out with the dishes, the laundry, the housekeeping, walking the dog. Someone was always there to call when I needed to talk. To them I owe my sanity.

    During this journey, I got to take a deeper look into my life. The tears I kept to myself; Hayley was to see only the positive, strong Tim. I spent a lot of time alone while she was resting. I had lots of time to think (not always a good thing). Each time those voices of fear and doubt crept into my head, I fought them off with these simple words:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot control,

The courage to change the things I can, and

The wisdom to know the difference.

That simple prayer and some good friends kept me going.

    I also had the opportunity to see just how special a person my wife is. Her strength, her positive attitude, her stamina. The horde of friends pouring in, the cards and calls. How she faced every new Unknown and kicked its butt. And how she has now chosen to take her experience and use it to help others through their own journeys.

    It may sound strange to you, but this experience has really strengthened our relationship, and it’s made me a better person to boot! It put life into perspective for me big time. Suddenly, work was not quite so important. Sharing my life with my partner was. So I quit my job of 24 years, got my real estate broker’s license, and now work everyday with my best friend.

    Sure, things are different. Now she is the one who is hot all the time and throws off the covers. There are still Unknowns and voices of fear in my head, but I now understand that these things are beyond my control and any energy I expend on them is a complete waste of time! Now I can take that time to thank God, The Great Spirit, or whatever you believe in for what I have today—this minute—and to make the most of it. I take time to laugh. To look at the sunset. To play soccer. To ride a bike. To listen to some good music. To pet the dog. To enjoy the sunshine. To go on vacation. To watch a movie. To dress up for Halloween. I take the time for the simple stuff that I would always put off before, because I “had to work” or “did not have the time” or some other such nonsense.

    I can say that now I live life to the best of my ability. I love my wife today more than yesterday, and will love her more still tomorrow.