The Other Side of the Coin

And then there are the spouses who do stand by their illin’ mates only to be treated like incompetent servants.

I totes get that having cancer and going through chemo can make you angry—rage being sorrow’s armored cloak. Added to this is the effects all those chemicals have going through the system. The steroids can trigger some ferocious rage. It’s a known thing.

Pity the poor husband/wife who’s the rage recipient. They may well know and understand but it’s still hard, hard, adamantine plus hard.

An acquaintance’s good wife, on her very last straw with her raging chemo-ifying man, explained that she and their young son would need to temporarily move out if he didn’t/couldn’t tamp down his fury frenzies. He did. He was self-aware enough to know that he’d been on a hair trigger but didn’t realize that he’d become so extreme.

They got through it and, as far as I know, are back to being happily married.

My friend Chuck didn’t have so much luck. His wife Dina, who was going through chemo for hoo-ha cancer, was angry, condescendingly snappish and imperiously tyrannical 24/7. Chuck understood but still, nothing he said or did seemed to help. In fact, though he’s a good, empathetic, thoughtful sort, his very presence could set off fresh flares of outta control temper (but god forbid he NOT be by her side). Chuck figured this’d all pass when chemo ended. To some degree it did. She became calmer…mostly.
Despite finishing chemo and being in complete remission, Dina didn’t entirely shed her captious,  me-me-me behavior. She was now self absorbed to Olympic gold medal winning levels. It was as though the elixirs which killed off the cancer had also relieved her of compassion, thoughtfulness and any altruism—at least as far as her husband was concerned.

They went to couples counseling where Chuck kindly but directly highlighted her behavior and explained how it made him feel. Things would get better for a few months and then she’d slide back into It’s-All-About-Me-Ville.

Coco's declaration? No, just no.

He faithfully stuck by her. but, understandably, fell out of love. For her this was the last straw. How dare he! She divorced him.

Despite the fact that her lawyers made sure Chuck, who’d been the primary breadwinner, was left with barely a sou to his name, he was relieved to be finally free.

I wish I could say that Chuck was my only chum who’d gone through this—who’d been the fab-ola, supportive partner, only to be treated like an insolent peasant. Far from it. I just don’t get how or why the bad behavers didn’t wildly appreciate the amazing companions that they had. Honest to Bast, what is up with that shit!?

Enough of that though—it’s Monday and John Scalzi has two new kittens which he’s provisionally named Thing One and Thing Two.  Coco, Rocco and The Amazing Bob put all ten feet down before I could utter even the slightest, wan, I want a kitten whimper.

No.

*sigh*