One of my seemingly large number of people in my age bracket with cancer that I knew through the medical school world died this weekend.
He was the boyfriend (basically, spouse) of one of my closer classmates. And he was a Dad. And a friend of many.
They were two of the lovelies we saw Coldplay with in Europe. He was the one that I had a running joke with for a year that I clearly didn’t like him because I (in my old lady ways) would always be leaving a party when he would get there after work. He sometimes brought us food, coffee (or alcohol, depending on the indication) and laughs.
They are back in the place I went to med school. I can’t go to the funeral. I can’t give her a hug.
His cancer was one of the ones I, as an oncology person, would say is a good one to have. One that has a high rate of cure. Unfortunately, someone has to be in the subset that doesn’t do well.
I just wish it wasn’t him.
And then, I go to medical oncology clinic. I give good news and I give bad news, mostly to people twice his age. I quote statistics and review treatments. But, they are just numbers, just data.
And all I can think about is him. And her. And the soul crushing loss that must be losing your life partner. And at such a young age.
I see people posting heartfelt statuses, blog posts and such about how great he was, how sad they are. But, nothing can compare to what she feels. At least, that is what I imagine. I can’t really know. Nobody except she and God can.
I don’t even have words.
I can’t even imagine. I can’t do the sentiment justice.
My heart is broken.
All I can do is pray.