Not the same husband. The other husband I had who had cancer died in 2001, four months after we got married. It sucked. A lot.
Now, 22 years later, my husband has cancer. If I hadn’t already been to one “husband with cancer” rodeo in my lifetime, or if it weren’t the same type of cancer my father died from last year, I might be processing the situation differently.
But for the past 3 months, I have been deeply entrenched in a state that mental health professionals commonly refer to as “freaking right the fuck out over pretty much everything”.