The Human Being, Not the Human Doing: Lessons from the Infusion Center

My experience has taught me that as humans, it’s much easier to ‘do’ than it is to ‘be’, especially when your loved one is undergoing cancer treatment. ‘Doing’ gives us a false sense of control and can alleviate some of our own suffering by completing tasks. ‘Being’ though sometimes more challenging for us caregivers, can provide a steady, grounding force to your person. It signals that you can handle whatever they’re going through and you’re bearing witness to how hard this journey is.

The Illusion of False Control

In the beginning of our treatment path, I found myself over-leaning into ‘doing’ mode in the infusion center. “Do you want a warm blanket? What about some food?”. Though sometimes those questions and requests were helpful, I later realized that I was trying to solve for 2 separate and somewhat opposing feelings:

1. I wanted to distract myself from my reality: I was sitting next to my young, healthy husband as life-saving poison dripped into his veins. It is difficult to ignore that reality when fellow cancer patients in adjacent chairs are enduring the same grueling process.
2. I needed to feel powerful: I was hurting from how much he was suffering, and the lack of power to cure the cancer and free him from his pain was excruciating. If I couldn’t cure him, I would micro-manage his comfort..

To his credit, my husband never feigned slight annoyance towards me even when I asked him about a snack for the 5th time in an hour. I think he knew it was all coming from a good place, the desire to heal him and make the unimaginable a little easier. I knew, intellectually, that I needed to be more of a human being and less of a human doing.

Finding Power in Presence

This pivot didn’t happen overnight. By the middle of his second cycle, we had built a silent routine. I didn’t need to ask a single “Do you want…” question. We started the day with 2 warm blankets and an orange juice. We befriended his care team and would chat about their lives outside of the infusion center. By the time his 2nd drug began, I knew the best way to support him was to let him rest and take a nap. The subsequent car ride home was a quiet contract between us- a silent, quick transition to bed.

This shift meant I had reached a certain level of acceptance. I learned to trust the process of treatment and recovery. I paid attention to his day-to-day energy levels and side effects. I could predict when he would need more hands-on support and when he wanted to exist a bit more independently. As my husband’s caregiver, I felt it was important for him to feel a certain level of autonomy since his diagnosis and treatment felt so out of his control. I stopped leaping into action and started leaving ample space for him to either delegate a task for me or express his frustration and sadness on his own terms.. Having cancer and receiving chemotherapy is challenging enough; it’s even worse if he, as the patient, is worrying about me and how I am coping with this.

The Grounding Force of Parenthood

The struggle to be present was compounded by the fact that outside of caring for my husband, I was also caring for our nine-month-old twins. These were two tiny humans who had no concept of oncology or infusion schedules.

In a strange and beautiful way, they became my ultimate mindfulness practice. The twins didn’t need me to do anything complicated; they just needed me to be. They needed a steady hand, a warm hug, and a person to witness the joy of their new learned skills or the wonder of a new book. Enjoying the world through their eyes became my escape. I prioritized my rest and vented honestly to trusted loved ones in our community when the weight became unbearable. I learned to take everything day-by-day and find comfort in what was out of my control—a necessary skill for surviving cancer treatment.

Ultimately, after three rounds of chemotherapy and promising CT scans, we officially received the good news that my husband had entered remission. This chapter of our lives, defined by IV drips and silent car rides, strengthened our marriage and partnership in ways we never expected. It was a painful lesson, but one that stripped away the illusion of control and reminded me of the profound, simple power of consistent presence and love.

Link to Gabby’s Substack

https://open.substack.com/pub/thepresentparentbos/p/it-took-my-husband-having-cancer?r=6rztee&utm_medium=ios