• Kris M. Fuller

Cancer Wife Ninja

I'm Kris Fuller a.k.a Cancer-Wife-Ninja. My handsome husband, Ben, was diagnosed with Stage 4 Colon Cancer on Feb 26, 2020. It's hard to believe a year has passed.

I blogged about my journey, the yo-yo of hope and worry, the things we did to stay strong and hopeful, the little touch of crazy mixed with big love as we navigate this new rotten thing. I wrote about it because it calmed me, focused me and gave me a place to keep it all straight- the chaos in my mind can be wild, this blog was for me. But I shared it- and continue to share it- because ...well, I'm a sharer. If you've ever sat with me on a bus, you know by the second stop that my favourite colour is blue, I like my hair long, I always *thought* I was a 'dog person' but now that I have a cat (Mia Valentina) the game has changed and yes, I do have gum, and no, you don't have bad breath.


Day 1 The News | Wednesday Feb 26, 2020

Pink Shirt Day. Mine says Be Kind. It's too small but I love it.

Ben and I sit in Dr. Family's office, waiting to hear news from an ultrasound. Ben thinks it's gallstones, the doctor thinks it's an ulcer and I'm just annoyed. Annoyed that my husband hasn't been eating, has been in pain and has not been in the doctor sooner. It's rare for him to request a doctor visit (in the 7 years I have known him, this is the FIRST time ever). So, I insist on coming, this must be kind of big.

The doctor comes in and tries to prepare us with 'This is the worst part of my job. Giving bad news to people. And Ben, you are so young. It's not good news.'

My heart turns to concrete as the next words are shared. It's not the part about Ben having cancer. It's the part about it being Stage 4 and already showing up in the liver. It's the part where the doctor looks overly sombre. It's the part where I look across at my husband and see, maybe for the first time, how thin he truly is. His 6'2 frame is currently at 193lbs.

There is a pit in my stomach. My entire chest hurts, more than hurts...shoulder to shoulder, it tenses into a pain I have never felt before. Tears flow and the doctor passes me the tissue box.

I creak out, 'What is his life expectancy now?' like a sad robot. What a terrible question. What is wrong with me?


Kindly, he replies, 'We must wait for the oncologist and more information.'

There is a flurry of what's next, what's to come and how urgent it all is. We leave together, my body is moving through water. I am so heavy with this news and I just want to lie.down.forever.