Note: To see “through a glass” — a mirror — “darkly” is to have an obscure or imperfect vision of reality. The expression comes from the writings of the Apostle Paul; he explains that we do not now see clearly, but at the end of time, we will do so.

We’d been optimistic through my late wife’s diagnosis and treatment for ovarian cancer. From the summer of 2005 to the early summer of 2007, we did everything the doctors told us. She had surgery, then worked through eight chemo treatments followed by three intraperitoneal “injections” straight into her abdomen. The cancer was gone according to all practical measurements. CA-125 was down below 10.

The challenge in dealing with cancer is beating it at the cellular level, and cancer is adept at hiding below the detectable level until the chemo fades and the doctors get busy with other patients. Then it raises its tiny fucking little head and starts taking over tissue in its inestimably devastating habit.

Eventually, it builds back its foundations and a tumor grows or blood levels rise. Then the host body starts feeling odd and the tests show the CA-125 numbers rising. From 10-20. From 20-80. And from 80 to 800. Then the doctor goes “Well we better look into this.”

When cancer returns it is devastating, sometimes worse than the first time around when innocence keeps the facts at bay. For my late wife, the news that cancer was back caused a complete mental breakdown. I was in the living room when the phone call came through. She went into a rage, then tears of frustration and fear, and rage again. She collapsed in our bedroom and did not come out for a long time. I could hear the sobbing and when I came in she muttered “NO!” in a hard voice and kept on crying.

She did not emerge from that state of mind at all well. Her affect disappeared into a mute phase. I called a nurse friend to visit us the next day and during her visit, she told me, “She needs meds and a psychiatrist.”

Getting a psychiatry appointment when your health insurance is held by an HMO is basically impossible. I called every psych within fifty miles and finally found one that would see her. I could barely get her out the door. The world at large frightened her. All the spirit in her had vanished. No amount of prayer changed her demeanor. We entered the psychiatrist’s office to be greeted by a room full of people staring at us. That didn’t help at all. The meeting went quickly and we walked out of there with a prescription for depression and anti-anxiety medicine.

During those difficult weeks, even a visit from her parents was too much for her to bear. All the world was seen through a glass darkly.

This all took place while I was trying to hold that job together at the agency where I’d taken the position of CMO. The signs of weakness in my daily affect were obvious and respect for my abilities diminished by the day. The President told me, “I like you more when you smile.”

Within a few weeks, the company gave me the heave-ho and I didn’t tell my wife at first. I called our two closest friends to come over for support. By then, my wife’s mental health was at least stable, and the news of yet another job loss hit her in the numb spots. For that I was grateful. She stared at me with a strange look of sadness mixed with terminal resolve.

“We’ll get through this too,” she said.

It’s all we could do. Sometimes that’s all you can do. Just get through it. My life as a distance runner taught me that many times. It’s called “survival stride.” Art imitates life and life imitates art.

It keeps you running.