Diana M. Martin has been an adjunct professor in The Writing and Reading Center at Montgomery College in Rockville, MD, for over 20 years. She has a MFA in Creative Nonfiction and has published articles in the areas of parenting, health and cultural arts. When her husband lost his battle with cancer of unknown primary, later identified as bile duct cancer, she became the sole caregiver for their adult son, Alex, who is autistic.

Diana M. Martin

Diana M. Martin has published articles in the areas of parenting, health and cultural arts. When her husband lost his battle with cholangiocarcinoma, she became the sole caregiver for their son, Alex, who is autistic. 

I never knew how incredibly difficult it is to be a single parent, especially without family nearby to help. That is until my husband of 25 years, Dan, passed from cholangiocarcinoma and I had to take care of our son, Alex, who is autistic. Without the safety net of another caretaker nearby and my chronic health problems, it became painfully obvious that I needed help. I could not keep up with Alex’s increasingly fast stride, calm him during outbursts of frustration or help him with all of his daily living skills.

Two years after Dan’s death, I found a group living situation for our son. Even though I check on him regularly, it is still hard parenting alone. I feel guilty because I know if Dan had lived, Alex would be at home with us.

With this secured, I finally was able to have knee surgery that I had put off for many years.
As a spouse of someone with cancer, I had experience on how to plan and schedule. This included how long to take off work, rides for physical therapy appointments and which friends I could count on to help with everything from food preparation to laundry and picking up prescriptions.

Unfortunately, I was four weeks out from surgery when I pulled up from my desk and the left knee buckled. It took two paramedics to help me back into a chair. I planned for the first surgery, but not for the second.

Two days later, I woke up with a wound bag, an immobilized knee and a three-week hospital stay which included rehab. The second surgery ignited a traumatic response in me because it was reminiscent of the times treatments and surgeries failed for my husband. This robotic limb had screwed me over. Mostly, I was terrified that after a month of helping me, I would run out of friends who had sacrificed their time to get me through what was supposed to be a shorter recovery. Who would check on my son? Who would drive me around to appointments? Now I was in a heavy immobilizer brace for at least two more months. I could barely walk, and could not drive for several months, at least.

Solo parents not only face daily challenges, but catastrophic ones as well. I did not have an adult child that I could count on, nor family willing to take time off from work to help. Because I had spent most of my parenting years with a partner, I had never understood the total despondency of being in crisis and alone.

In rehab, I met Yeshi, who was one of the nurse’s aides and a single mom from Ghana, who raised three children on her own. As miserable as I was, I could not imagine taking care of my son alone in a foreign country, learning another language and putting myself through school. I also bonded with another aide whose pre-teen son had autism and was struggling in the school system. She felt she had no choice but to bring him back to Cameroon where the education system might better meet his needs and extended family could help.

These conversations fueled my desire to heal. They made me appreciate the hardships single parents face every day. I truly did not get it until I had time to process my own situation by reflecting on theirs.

Since I’ve been back home, my friends have re-emerged for yet another round. Staff have brought my son to see me. The hospital discharge staff provided me with resources and community groups have pitched in. One good thing that has come out of this experience is that I have expanded my network. I learned that single parents network as a means for survival.

A few of my succulents died while I was away, so I sneaked in some artificial plants with colorful blooms. Some people can’t tell the difference because they are so carefully woven into the soil. They get tangled among the real stems and leaves and become almost inseparable. The perfectionist in me knows that this is cheating. I want to yank those imposters out forgetting that they were purposefully placed there to make it seem like I have a green thumb.

This is how I view parenting. You do the best you can and fake the rest so the outside world thinks you have it under control, but really you are just living day to day hoping not to mess things up too much. I can’t say that I have the life I always wanted or that my life is significantly better or worse. Maybe it’s not wise of me to think of life in that way. Cautiously, I roll my walker to the armchair, understanding and admiring the survivor parents whose resilience prompts them to get up every morning and do it all again.

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Articles

Losing a spouse to cancer and becoming a single parent to an autistic child presents immense challenges, especially without nearby family support. The author shares their journey of navigating these difficulties, including undergoing knee surgery and facing unexpected setbacks. Through interactions with other single parents, they gain a deeper appreciation for the resilience required in such circumstances. The experience highlights the importance of community support and networking for survival. Ultimately, the author reflects on the imperfect nature of parenting and the daily perseverance it demands.

Despite the initial shock and challenges, I found strength and support within the community of single parents.

When A Spouse Dies from Cholangiocarcinoma: Praise for Single Parents

It’s been seven years since I’ve been a caregiver to my husband who died from a rare form of liver cancer in 2015. In 2013, when he was diagnosed, people with this cancer had less than a two-year survival rate. That is bleak enough — but combining that with the threat of COVID-19 is daunting, if not unimaginable.

Since I belong to a widow/widower support group in my area, I’ve met people whose spouses did not succumb to cancer, but to COVID-19 instead. The last time they saw their spouse was when they dropped him or her off at the hospital. There were no final goodbyes. Unable to even hold a proper memorial service, these caregivers and their families are in immense pain.

Most people do not understand how isolating it is for this particular group of caregivers. Their layers of grief are complicated. Hearing them makes me grateful that my family and I did not have to deal with this.

Now that the world has had some time to live through the COVID-19 pandemic, it is my opinion that special programs and advocates need to be put in place so families and caregivers can receive the counseling and support they need.

I met one of my dearest friends through a caregiver support group. Although my husband passed, hers continue to struggle with stage 4 melanoma. I asked if she had any advice for families who are battling cancer and COVID-19 together.

She said that often the patients have friends and family that regularly check-in on them. The doctor confers with the patient on treatments. It’s unusual for people to check in on the caregiver. That is why she encourages caregivers to join a support group because those are the people that understand the constant roller coaster of emotions.

Preparing for scan day, especially when it falls around the holidays, is highly stressful. She said that her and her husband deal with it by getting an early appointment and then picking up the scan report in the afternoon. “We get the results before the doctor even sees them! No matter what the outcome, it is so much better than waiting days for the results.” It is also appreciated when friends check in with her on scan day. I try to ask her when that is, and I make a mental note of the date or put it on my calendar, so I remember to give her a call.

What also helps caregivers is when the person with cancer has a positive outlook. It is all about perspective and where you are in the journey. She told me, “My husband’s positive outlook on his therapy, his disease and his life in general has been the most important motivator for me. If he can be positive after all he has been through, I can try my best to keep going.”

Her advice in respect to COVID-19 is simple: get vaccinated. Although both her and her husband still ended up getting COVID-19 (even after being boosted), she believes that it was milder because they made that decision.

She said that in addition to vaccinations with the booster shot, people also need smart management of exposure risks. “We tend to do many activities outside. In the winter it’s more challenging, but it’s important to do a few lower risk activities like going to a store when its first opens, wearing masks of course,” she commented.

I see her gracefully and competently deal with cancer, aging parents, a brother with a disability and a myriad of other issues — all that have been complicated by COVID-19. I have been there, kind of. I remember that although I might have looked like I was handling everything on the outside, I was struggling every day on the inside. I remember feeling like I was on a railroad track and could see a train in the distance coming at me in full speed. Then it was just a matter of time.

Now, the train has passed, but I still can sense its presence in the lives of these caregivers who bless me in ways I could have never imagined.

Having been a caregiver to my late husband who died from cancer, I know first-hand the difficulties of caregiving — not to mention what it must be like for those trying to do it during a worldwide pandemic.

Cancer Caregivers Need Extra Support During and After the COVID-19 Pandemic

I began this year by reflecting on my relationship with cancer. I credit my husband’s struggle and death in 2015 from bile duct cancer, and those who came before and after him, as integral in the development of who I am and how I function in this ever-changing world of surprises.

I try not to let this disease define who these people were, but it is the one commonality that seems to pop into my head when I remember them. They all lived with cancer. They died from it. It seems that most people have had someone they know experience — or experienced themselves — the complexity of life with cancer.

As part of my study to become a Reiki master, I learned about the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi which is fixing broken pottery with gold or some other precious metal. It reminds us that something can break and yet, once repaired, is stronger and even more beautiful at the broken places. I used this practice for healing and found it to be helpful during these pandemic times, especially when everyone is aware of the fragility of life.

I wanted to share this practice with CURE® readers because I found it to be a meaningful and unique way to memorialize a loved one. I first started out by finding a piece of pottery (preferably a small bowl or vase) to break — nothing too big because the pieces should be not frustrating to glue back together. I put the pottery bowl in a cloth bag and dropped it from my knee to the cement outside.

Using gloves, I picked up the bag and felt the broken pieces inside. I prayed over them because they represented all that cancer had broken in my life. I then slowly placed them on a mat on my table. I also had pottery glue and some gold arts and crafts powder. I mixed the gold powder into the glue with some of my husband’s ashes. Then I slowly glued the first pieces together. Meticulously, one at a time, I added another piece. There were three large pieces and several tiny pieces. I used putty to seal the cracks that were too small and placed the rest of the shards in another small bag.

For a deeper experience, I then looked at where the breaks occurred and the glued pattern. I had a pattern of three gold lines that connected. I took that to represent myself, my husband and my son. One of the gold lines was separate from the top. I thought that this might symbolize my husband’s departure, and that though he was gone physically, he remained spiritually connected to us.

I like to run my fingers over the piece of pottery and feel the glued ridges, some of which were not perfectly placed. Sometimes I put a candle in the middle or write a note and put it in the bowl. I have the little bag of the shards also in the bowl.

This metaphor for healing was a powerful way to memorialize the person, not the cancer. It also brought some closure and hope for a new year still filled with not just uncertainty, but also with cracks that allow a glimmer of light to shine through.

A woman whose husband died from cancer explains how she shattered a piece of pottery and glued it back together, to represent the cracks of her life left by her loss and how her husband remains connected to her.

How an Ancient Japanese Art Technique Inspired My Healing Journey From Cancer

Whether it is you or a close family member who receives the diagnosis, eventually most people wonder: 

 It's been almost four years since my husband passed away, and I still have moments of insecurity when it comes to me being the sole breadwinner. We survived on his salary and health insurance while I worked part time and cared for our son with autism. While he was in treatment, all of that changed. 

After the diagnosis, the first financial step we took was to notify his place of employment. Luckily for us, he had saved up vacation and sick leave. The organization he worked for had a program where people could donate their leave to help others in need. We took advantage of the program. Keeping him on the payroll was essential to our survival. His supervisor also allowed him to work from home when he could. This were blessings that I know are not available to everyone. And even with this good fortune, I knew it wouldn't be enough to keep us afloat.

The next step I took was to contact the social worker affiliated with the oncology practice. This was a free service that was offered to patients. Most oncology practices have someone who can help patients not only with the emotional strain, but with resources to ease the financial stress that often comes with such a devastating diagnosis. I made an appointment with that person and told her that we needed help. She signed us up for a free meal service that helped families in the county whose pay was under a certain amount. Since I had taken time off from my job to care for my husband, we qualified for that program. I had never thought that we would be in this position, but I am glad that I swallowed my pride and spoke up. This program was a lifesaver.

Then she provided me with a list of local resources to call. Some provided small grants, others provided gas cards, free transportation, and stipends for medication. I had more luck with local organizations that were familiar with the cancer treatment center and were already serving families in need there. After joining a support group, one of the members offered to create a GoFundMe page for us. We raised almost $20,000 through the efforts of family and friends.

After talking to some of my colleagues where I worked, I was able to apply for an assistance grant through my workplace and friends at my husband's job also donated money. Because our son had autism, I contacted the local and state autism organizations and received additional grants. I told all our creditors that we were in financial distress. Some lowered or deferred payments. In addition, we took out a "no health questions asked" inexpensive short-term life insurance policy for $2,000 that ended up paying for the funeral.

I was raised to keep family matters private. However, one of the best decisions I made during this time was to not be embarrassed to ask for help. It was humbling and uncomfortable. I was not even used to asking people to pray for us, but I did. And people did so much more. What I discovered is that in times of real need, even strangers notice and are willing to lend a hand. You just need to speak loud enough for them to hear.

Almost four years after my husband's death, I am still surviving financially due to the grace of God and some of these decisions. I've had to rely on life insurance and personal savings. I have had some health setbacks that I know I will have to get through on my own. I worry about my son's future after I am gone and have created a special needs trust for him. I also belong to Widowcare, an organization that has helped me deal with these issues and meet other widows and widowers who face the same problems. I am gradually coming out of what was once a bleak financial future to face a new reality that is neither better nor worse than the old one.

There are resources available to help you cope with financial stress of cancer, whether it's you or a loved one facing the disease.

Diana M. Martin

When A Spouse Dies from Cholangiocarcinoma: Praise for Single Parents

Cancer Caregivers Need Extra Support During and After the COVID-19 Pandemic

How an Ancient Japanese Art Technique Inspired My Healing Journey From Cancer

Offsetting the Cost of Cancer

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