Elephants and Tea - One Herd - 12

Our Voices
I received my cancer diagnosis on the
way to a work meeting when the colleague
of the surgeon who completed my lymph
node biopsy asked me to pull my car over.
After hanging up, my first call was to Kelley,
whose words calmed me enough to
drive home. She wrapped her arms around
me, and I knew she would be by my side
for whatever we faced moving forward. She
had always been there to support me when I
needed it; coming out to my family, getting
a job, encouraging me in my career, and
taking the leap into exploring parenthood.
My oncologist met with both of us, disDuring
diagnosis and treatment, while
working on life over death, those things
still mattered but were pushed aside for
more immediate needs and goals. Even
so, I was still a member of the LGBTQIA+
community who wanted my relationship to
be recognized, I still wanted to be a mom,
and I still wanted to make the best career
decisions.
In retrospect, I realize that these important
aspects of myself were overlooked by
my healthcare team, which led me to set
them aside as well to focus on treatment.
I also realize that, if these aspects had not
been ignored, we could have been more
engaged in my treatment and developed
a game plan for parenthood and work.
Perhaps I would have been less of a study
subject and more of a self-advocate. Instead,
after my treatment's success, I found
myself feeling lost-unsure of whether I
would carry a baby, whether my wife still
wanted this for us, and how my work life
could look after cancer.
My wife and I had met in college when
we were 18. I don't know if it was love at
first sight, but it was best friendship at first
sight. Kelley made it easy to share everything
about myself, including my lack of
self-confidence and fear of taking risks,
which I masked with humor and affability.
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ELEPHANTSANDTEA.ORG
ONE HERD ISSUE 2025
She was introspective, intelligent, and introverted
where I was outgoing; we could
not have been more different. What began
as long conversations about where we had
been evolved into longer conversations
about where we were going . . . together.
One thing we had in common is that we
loved a game plan.
Her game plan meant moving to Atlanta
to start working after graduation while mine
meant graduate school in a South Georgia
town. We continued our relationship long
distance with weekend visits until I graduated
and secured a job in Atlanta. We were
able to begin our lives together and worked
toward the unified game plan-house, career
growth, and eventually, a family. Kelley
had become the person who lifted me up and
helped me recognize the best me I could be.
I found my person.
She was the only one who absolutely had
to be at my side when my primary care doctor
shared concern about a butterfly shaped
mass in my chest following appointments to
manage fatigue and a rash. She stood next
to me when the pulmonologist, ruling out
sarcoidosis, said I was being referred to an
oncologist. She looked into my eyes and
asked me what an oncologist was, and she
wiped away my tears when I told her it was
a cancer doctor.
cussed my course of treatment, and so it
began. Kelley and I believed cancer had
made decisions for us. I would not take
the job I had recently been offered because
I would not have qualified for health insurance
in the new organization due to
my now pre-existing condition of cancer.
We would not start a family now, and no
one discussed whether it was something
we could consider in the future. All these
thoughts were pushed aside when faced
with my mortality.
Instead, we arrived for the first day of
treatment in a waiting room of a community
clinic where no one looked like me;
Kelley and I were by far the youngest. The
pre-authorization of my chemo had not
been completed prior to our arrival, during
my blood draw, or when my infusion
needle was inserted, so I sat, exhausted,
while Kelley tried to advocate for moving
things along. As I look back, I wonder if
the limited response to her advocacy had
been related to the lack of recognition of
her as my life partner/spouse.
I don't recall side effects being discussed
ahead of treatment, so as they slowly
overwhelmed my body and mind in the
subsequent weeks, Kelley and I focused
on getting through each day. As I finished
treatment and we returned to a life focused
on the future, we began to discuss having
a family again. My body was not prepared
to carry a child and I was not sure it ever
would be. Kelley told me that, after almost
losing me, she was not ready to add someone
else to our family. Her truth reminded
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Elephants and Tea - One Herd

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