Dream New Dreams (26 page)

By the fall of 2009, a little over a year after Randy’s death, I had given a few talks about my caregiving experience and about widowhood to a few health agencies and at a couple of pancreatic cancer fund-raisers. At each event, I would talk about Randy and our experiences together during his illness. But in talking about him and sharing my feelings about him with the audience, I felt I was conjuring his ghost, resurrecting him in such a way that I could feel him close to me again. It’s interesting that I couldn’t really talk about Randy or our experiences with our friends because it was too painful for everyone involved. Here in this public but also anonymous venue, it was not only OK for me to say his name and speak about the agonies cancer created in our lives, but the people attending these events wanted to know about them. They were eager to hear the details of our cancer journey, and I wanted to describe the pain cancer had caused for me, my husband, and our children. It was a cathartic, wonderful healing process. But as soon as the talk was over or I had left the fund-raiser, Randy’s ghost would dissipate, and the feeling that he was with me would evaporate as well. I would lose him all over again.

And then loneliness would well up inside me. I didn’t have that special person anymore with whom to share life’s little joys. I loved Randy, I still do, but I decided I couldn’t be married to a ghost. I needed more. I was content with my life, had wonderful friends, a close family who was very supportive, and new ventures that challenged
me intellectually. I could go on like this, and it would be fine. But I want more than fine.

I decided I was ready to take another step forward in the direction of building my new life, but the decision presented me with a challenge: how to go about meeting someone. I met Randy when I was working. I had met the other men I’d dated, before marrying Randy, when I was a student taking classes. However, now I was neither in an office nor on a college campus. Bars were never my thing, so that option was out. It’s no surprise that I didn’t meet a guy playing women’s tennis or picking up children at preschool or at elementary school functions. Nor did I meet anyone at church. When I started feeling exasperated, I turned to my friends and family for help. This method had worked brilliantly when I was looking for a pediatrician for the kids, a general practitioner for myself, a painter for the house, and a dog for the family. Surely my friends would be able to suggest an acceptable single man who would work out just as well as my electrician. How naive of me to think it would be so simple to find someone my age who was eligible to go out for dinner.

After a while, I got tired of hearing myself complain about the lack of progress in my romantic endeavors. The situation was becoming a real challenge and one I was determined to solve. I had to think out of the box and move to a less traditional dating method, since what I had been trying wasn’t successful. And so, like 20 million other Americans, I signed up with an online dating service to increase my chances of meeting someone single. Twenty-four hours after I had enrolled, my account showed a list of at least ten eligible bachelors in my area. I was surprised by how easy and quick it was to have a list of potential dates within such a short period of time. It made me feel I had options. Let me clarify that statement. It wasn’t that the online site provided me with a variety of men to choose
from, but rather that it gave me the opportunity to meet single men or choose not to meet anyone. I wasn’t forced by circumstance to be single; I had a choice, and that was so empowering to me.

Now that I actually had the chance to meet someone new, I had to make sure I was completely OK with moving on. In my heart, I knew I would always love Randy. In my mind, I recognized that our marriage vows released me from our bonds of matrimony when Randy died. Still, I had to wrestle a little bit with the feeling that I was cheating on my dead husband. My friends and counselor were there to listen to me and give me the support I needed to move forward with my life. They cautioned me to take things slowly, not to give my heart away too quickly, and most of all, just to have fun. So I took a deep breath and responded to the messages in my online dating account.

Dating in the abstract sounds very exciting, but in reality, it’s difficult and painful. Rejection isn’t something anyone enjoys at any age or stage of life, but it’s part of dating. Of course, the upside is the surge of emotions one gets while getting to know someone new. It had been a long time since I had felt like this, and it was nice. Dating added a new and enriching dimension to my life, separate from my children and their lives and completely separate from my history with Randy—or so I thought.

I was surprised to find that my name and my face were recognizable even though more than a year had gone by since
The Last Lecture
had been published and any news about me had been aired. My hair had grown longer, and I felt I looked very different from the pictures of me that had been posted on the Internet, used on television, or printed in the book. Sometimes in an attempt to be candid, I would be very up-front about who my late husband was. Some potential dates have googled my name and learned a lot about
me from the Internet. Both scenarios, I realized, created an imbalance of information between myself and the person I was getting to know. They knew a lot about me—how I met my husband, the births of our children, and how my marriage ended. I, on the other hand, knew little about them and felt at a disadvantage. I had to rely only on these men telling me the truth about themselves and how and why they were no longer married. And the public perception of Randy as a perfect person, even though he had his flaws, can be very intimidating to some men. Sometimes people can’t help but see me as the professor’s widow, and it can be quite off-putting. Randy’s ghost seemed to haunt me when I was trying to move forward. I had to learn to handle these scenarios and get comfortable with who I was. Easier said than done.

Another complicating factor in dating is having small children. Because of their vulnerability, I want to protect them from getting attached to someone who might not be in our lives long-term. When I first started dating, I told the children I was going out to dinner with a man. Instantly they jumped to the conclusion that my date and I were getting married and they would finally have another dad. I explained to them that dating was a long process of getting to know someone before you made the decision to spend your life with that person. I shared Randy’s mantra, “Marry in haste, repent at leisure,” which led to a great discussion about the important attributes of a relationship worthy of matrimony. It’s a great lesson for the children to learn and a silver lining to my widowhood. Logan gets very engaged in these discussions; he had developed an eye for the ladies at the tender age of five. I hope our discussions will help him make good choices when he gets to the point of going out with girls. My actions will also be an example for Chloe, which weighs on my mind as well. I want my daughter to see me with someone
who treats me with love and kindness so that she will hold out for the same when she takes an interest in young men. How much easier it was to date when I was in college and worried only about how handsome a boy was!

Furthermore, I’ve had to learn
when
to introduce a person I’m seeing to my children. I don’t want them to meet someone I’m not serious about or who isn’t serious about me and my family. I don’t want them to get emotionally attached to someone who might be around for only a few weeks. There’s also the time necessary for me to develop a relationship with someone separate from and outside the spectrum of my family circle, time to learn about each other and grow into our relationship. I’ve had difficulty creating opportunities for the person I’m dating to spend time my children because of my desire to protect my kids. I know it’s important for me to see how a man interacts with my children and vice versa. When I was talking about this very subject with Dylan, he came up with a metric of fifteen dates for me to use as a gauge for when it would be appropriate for me to bring somebody home to meet him and his siblings! I don’t know if that’s the best measuring stick, but I’m really glad I can talk with Dylan, Logan, and Chloe about this issue.

Dating takes a lot of time and energy. When I last dated, I had only myself to think about. Now I have to balance time with a man I’m dating against time with my children, who are my first priority. When I first started to go out again, I immediately wanted to stop, for fear that it would detract from other projects and from raising my children. One of my greatest passions right now has been to continue Randy’s efforts to increase awareness and funding for pancreatic cancer research. I had always planned to volunteer in the cancer world in some way. I didn’t realize that my dream underestimated what was really possible.

R
ANDY AND I OFTEN WENT
to an oncology appointment expecting to be in the cancer facility for three hours, only to find ourselves still there after four, five, or six hours. There were many different reasons for the delays. Sometimes, the nurse would have to infuse the chemotherapy drugs at a slower rate so as not to overload Randy’s system. Sometimes he might need a shot to boost his white blood cell count. And sometimes the infusion area was so full of patients that there wasn’t a chair for him. We had to wait our turn, kind of like waiting for a table at a restaurant, except Randy and the other patients were guaranteed to get sick from whatever they were served.

Most oncology departments recognize the fluid nature of chemotherapy appointments and keep a selection of drinks and snacks or vending machines available for their patients as they wait. There
are also volunteers who come around the waiting rooms offering drinks and a sandwich to either the patient or caregiver. I can’t tell you how many times I had lunch courtesy of these kind souls. MD Anderson Center in Houston covers ten thousand acres and employs seventeen thousand people. When Randy was undergoing the clinical trial treatment there, we would often be very far from a cafeteria or vending machine. Luckily for us and the other twenty thousand patients receiving care there, volunteers go around to different departments and waiting rooms with the Jolly Trolley—a cart stocked with snacks and hot coffee, tea, or chocolate. I can still hear the sound of the trolley’s bell. That tinkling sound was welcomed by the hordes of us stuck in the bowels of the cancer center maze, where no sunlight penetrated and time was measured by the drips from the IV bag down the line. Cancer takes over more than just the body; it takes over one’s time, takes away control over one’s schedule, one’s day. The patient and caregiver are completely in cancer’s grip. The Jolly Trolley was more than a hot cup of coffee; it was a nice diversion from the reality of the moment served up with a friendly smile.

After spending long days that added up to weeks inside the cancer bureaucracy, I knew I wanted to help other people who were going through similarly trying times. When routine was restored within our household after Randy had passed, I wanted to use some of my free time while the children were in school and preschool to be a volunteer who handed out drinks and sandwiches to those now sitting in those same waiting rooms where I had been sitting just a short while ago. I knew from firsthand experience the difference such a simple act could make in someone’s day. Rather than wallowing in my own self-pity, I would benefit from helping others. There’s an immediate reward in doing for others—the instant gratification
of interacting with the person you are helping. It’s a much more personal experience than merely writing a check and putting it in the mail.

I’m sure some folks would never want to step back into a cancer ward, to see the IV poles and chemo bags strung up like party balloons. Some party! The guests are definitely not having a good time. They’re not vomiting into the garbage can because they’ve had too much to drink. These reminders of darker days reopen wounds for those of us who have survived a cancer experience. I know the pain of patients and caregivers, and I understand why some people do not volunteer in some way. The experience is devastating for everyone. For my part, I needed to do something to help the people who were still sitting in those wards, all suffering silently in their own ways. After seeing the atrocities cancer can do to body and spirit, I felt great empathy for those walking in my shoes. I couldn’t shut out the images by closing my eyes; they would only reappear in my mind.

My volunteering plans took a turn, though, in the fall of 2008 when Julie Fleshman, president of the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network, called me and asked me to attend the organization’s annual fund-raiser. A year later, she asked me to join the organization’s board of directors. I hesitated because I wasn’t sure I had the time or experience to give to the organization at this level. Still, I didn’t say no right away but instead took a little time to talk it over with several close friends. My reservations included being newly widowed and dealing with a tsunami of grief, as well as learning to be a single parent. My lack of experience as a board member also gave me pause. The only experience I had was serving on the Pittsburgh Toy Lending Library’s board, which was no comparison in terms of scope or budget to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network. Then there was the fact that my free time was limited because Chloe was
in preschool for only four hours a day. Serving on the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network’s board would knock out my designs to serve as a refreshment volunteer. I couldn’t do both, so I had to choose.