Lock and Load, Baby

Those are the words my best friend said to me yesterday.  "I'm cleaning the barrels, oiling them and wiping them down, getting them ready for a fight," he said.  "So when it's time, it'll be lock and load, baby - no messing around, we're going to be vicious with this thing."

That best friend would be the man who is also known as my partner, a crazy-haired grandpa, and my husband. 

In some ways, I have the easy part in all of this.  Yeah, I have the cancer - but he has me.  He waits with me, holding my hand; he paces the halls of doctor's offices and surgery centers and hospitals.  He will give up his blessed morning coffee when I'm unable to take anything by mouth before a procedure.  He makes multiple pharmacy runs while I nap.  He lays in supplies of diet Vernors and Ben & Jerry's and my favorite little licorice bars.  He goes out of his way to comfort me, to care for me, to ensure my safety.  He is my protector, my guardian, my in-home health-care aid.  In all of this, he has to stand by and watch and wait, often feeling helpless.  Repeatedly, he has told me he would "do this" for me, if he could - and I know that to be true.  He would take on the cancer and all the associated procedures, surgeries, and possible outcomes, along with the associated health risks, so that I would not have to. 

Sometimes, words fail me when it comes to Ken.  He is my sun, my moon; my life is perfectly complete with him as my partner and best friend.  I cannot imagine being here, in this place, without him by my side.

So, from the girl who despises guns more than liver and onions - it's time to lock and load, baby!  Thank you for pulling out the big guns for me!