Hi all,
must confess I have not read too many posts yet, because I'm too scared of reading what all could go wrong

I'm Ingeborg, age 47. I live in New Zealand, although I (and my hubby) are German by birth. We've been here for eight years. We have two boys, 6 and 10. My husband (51) has recently been diagnosed with cancer and just completed his first week of chemo. I don't have much of a clue what all the abbreviations mean, but on his paperwork it says T2N2b.

He's had 10 molars removed and a PEG tube put in 10 days ago. Three days later he started his first cycle with Cisplatin and 5FU.

The treatment centre is a 4 hr drive away. I was with him for the first few days but then had to go home to take care of the boys and also see to my job.

I'm the breadwinner, he's the home maker.

Looks like the treatment is taking quite well, because the swelling in the lymph nodes has already gone down considerably, and he also says that swallowing has become easier (the primary tumor is on the tonsil tissue).

Doctors are aiming for complete recovery, but still...

He's home now for two weeks, then off again for the next chemo cycle and the start of 6 weeks radiation.

Right now, he is tired, nauseous, slow....and CRANKY!

He is depressed and I perceive a lot of what he says as moaning and wish he'd be more positive.

Like, if he doesn't feel like eating, and is afraid that he will loose too much weight, why doesn't he use the friggin' tube? We've got the fortisip sitting in the cupboard and he hates the taste but he doesn't want to use the tube because he has not "officially" been shown how to do it.

He's having diarrhea (spelling?), but won't take codein (which would remedy), because it says on the packet "take for strong pain" and he is not in strong pain.

Arrrghhh!

He flies off the handle at every little bit that the kids do "wrong". I have not kept the house to his standards while he was away for the week, so I get flak for that. I've got a full time job, mind you! And had to skeedad off early to pick up the kids from school.

I mean, right now, he's probably physically in the best condition of the whole treatment procedure and I'm dreading the time leading up to Xmas, when he will feel really grotty.

We generally have different opinions about tidiness and how strict to be with the kids, and as long as he is around the house and holds these reigns, that's fine with me, and I normally consent, although sometimes I feel like a third child, when I'm told to put my stuff away or to put a lid on a jar in the fridge.

But if he's away, it's all I can do to uphold my own rules, without having to think what he would think and do and rule, and apply his value system on top of my own. So I just do as best as I can, right, but when he comes home he complains that the kids are running wild and the house is in (apparent? imagined? perceived?) disarray.

I feel like a color blind person, who, alongside of a color capable person can live up to the standards of that person, you know, with reminders and hints, but when he's away I simply can't tell red from green, so how can I be blamed for that? I don't give a toss about a few crumbs in the drawer. I don't think it's important. I don't notice it!!! And then the little one gets told off for the "mess" and gets a long sermon about how much work it is to clean the drawer and how he should take better care about things, and I stand there, rolling my eyes and thinking "... aren't there more important things in life, really?" I had the flipping drawer cleaned in less than a minute. No sweat. What's the big deal? Why make such a drama about it? -- Oh! It's to educate our boys to be tidy and take care of things.

Well, I am not that anal and I still get through life, so there must be more than one way!

I can handle the sickness. I can handle the logistics with the kids and my job and blowing all my annual leave so I'll be around for him when he needs me or the kids are off for school holidays. I can handle the prospect of his condition getting worse before it gets better.

But I can not handle the prospect of being screamed at for trivial things like why did I not tell the 6 year old to clean the chocolate crumbs in the drawer, and does nothing ever get done right when he's not here.

Either he or I will need a prescription of valium before the year is out.

How much worse will it get before it gets better? Can they give him a pill so he does not obsess so much about f**ing tidiness?

He needs half an hour to decide if he wants to have a coffee, but he screams at the boy because the boy did not jump up to his request to help him find his glasses. He conveniently fails to notice that he called the younger boy, who was not even in the room and the freaks out because the older boy (who was engrossed in a book on the sofa) did not jump to attention.

JEEEPerz!

Will that get any worse?

Please tell me that the patients get more complacent and, errr..., well...., "patient" (LOL) while treatment progresses.

Thanks for letting me vent.

Ingeborg