by Catherine Jerome

Created on: April 20, 2008

My partner has advanced metastatic prostate cancer, diagnosed in November of 2005. All medical interventions work for a while ( hormone therapy, chemotherapy ) only to be abandoned when his cancer spits in the face of remission and aggressively reverts to its invasive tactics. At the time of my partner's diagnosis, I was employed full-time as a Teacher of the Gifted. (Notice the use of the past tense.) This position, which I absolutely LOVED, required me to write, customize and deliver differentiated curriculum to over one hundred and twenty students each week. ( from fifth to eighth-graders, respectively ) The mandated paperwork alone may have been responsible for some significant deforestation!

Once I adjusted to the initial shock of a cancer diagnosis, and when it became apparent that the first course of treatment was having some positive effects, life settled back into its predictable and comforting routine.

It was only after his cancer treatments began to fail miserably, one after the other, that my wheels fell off. (Please forgive the cliche . . .)

At first, it manifested as utter, crushing fatigue at the end of the day. So debililtating and uncharacteristic was this fatigue that I actually began to wonder if someone had slipped me a date rape drug. ( Ah-h-h-h-h, the paranoia of exhaustion! ) So, thought I, just start going to bed earlier, you moron. Right . . .

I lumbered along this way for about eighteen months, still able to function at the top of my game while I was at school, knowing that I would probably be collapsing into bed after the evening news. That would be the six o'clock evening news, though. ( ! ! ! )

Ever so insidiously, insomnia began to make its presence known. Oh sure, I could fall asleep, only to awaken at two or three o'clock in the morning with the worst case of "speed brain" that could be imagined. "Speed brain", you ask? What in the name of God is that? It's where absolutely EVERY thought starts with two very simple words . . . WHAT IF? . . . and all that that entails . . .

I became sleep - depraved. ( with apologies to the word "deprived" )

That's when the bitter taste of resentment began to contaminate the very depths of my soul. Resentment over being thrust into the role of helpless bystander and caregiver while my partner begins to decline . . . resentment over the routine demands of my previously fulfilling job ( those demands were now just stupid irritants ) . . . resentment towards other people who seemed to be skipping through

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