Breast cancer is a relationship changer

You’re the rock. And you must learn to roll.

Breast cancer “is a relationship changer. You think everything is going smoothly and all off a sudden you get this bomb dropped on you,” said Brian Norske, whose partner, Jori, turned to Clark County’s Pink Lemonade Project for support after her diagnosis about four years ago. The couple lives in Tigard, Ore.

“You’re supposed to be the provider and the caretaker and suddenly this is out of your control,” said Steve Urke, the husband of Michelle, residents of Walnut Grove.

Both women underwent double mastectomies, chemotherapy and reconstructive surgery. Both men have struggled to master the truly tricky balancing act of accepting change graciously and embodying compassionate dependability — while not neglecting their own well-being and sanity, without which they’re no use to their partners.

Just remember the bottom line, Norske and Urke both said: healing and health.

“When this happens, the relationship goes on the back burner. The thing that becomes a priority is your partner getting well and staying well,” Norske said.

But what about your own needs, desires, hopes, disappointments? Heck, you’re only human.

“I’m just going to give her what she can handle,” is how Urke saw his role. “She’s got more on her plate than I do, goodness knows.”

These two men, and literature from advocacy groups such as Men Against Breast Cancer (https://www.menagainstbreastcancer.org), underline some commonsense pointers for partners of breast cancer patients and survivors.

Basics

Learn everything you can about breast cancer. If possible, go to your partner’s medical appointments with her. Ask questions. Take notes. Read up. Become an expert. The way to be a partner in this is to be a partner in this.

“In one year, she had over 150 doctor visits,” said Norske. “I don’t know if I’ve had 20 in my entire life. It’s crazy busy. It becomes a job for both of you.”

The basics of the job haven’t changed, only grown in importance: Make food. Go shopping. Run errands. Watch the kids. Manage the house. Norske and his partner aren’t married and maintain separate bank accounts, but when the diagnosis raised money issues, “we sometimes acted as each other’s personal bankers,” he said.

Speaking of jobs, Urke suffered the double-whammy of getting laid off while his wife was undergoing chemotherapy — but that worked out OK because, in addition to getting decent severance and career counseling, he was free to provide taxi service.

“She needed to be shuttled around and she was not in the best condition to drive. It really worked out for the better,” he said. His assistance was a material contribution to his wife’s care, he said, and helped him feel better about a bad situation.

“There are lots of silver linings and you’ve got to focus on those,” he said. (Plus, he wound up with a better job, he added.)

It was great to have a joyful goal, Urke added: The cancer diagnosis came midway through their daughter’s senior year in high school, and Michelle vowed to rock the graduation party.

“Nothing’s going to keep me from that,” she vowed — and nothing did, thanks partially to her husband’s help. The family enjoyed an awesome graduation party, Urke said.

A listening ear

Communication in the best of circumstances can be tough; communication in the midst of ongoing, complicating trauma is far more painful and awkward. For some men, it can mean breaking entirely new ground at a time when that ground has never looked scarier.

“When I have feelings, I don’t always know how to explain them or even realize what they are. Like most males, I might go — ‘Whoa, wait a minute, I’m having feelings, I need to figure this out!’ ” Urke said, laughing.

Some friends simply vanished when the diagnosis happened — and he understands why, he said.

“I don’t blame anybody. Before this whole thing happened, I think I was exactly where they were. You don’t know what to say or do. You don’t know that a listening ear is the most welcome thing.”

It’s equally true at home.

“You need to be able to communicate all the time,” said Norkse. “Communication is extremely important so misconceptions and problems between partners can be minimized. Is she feeling crummy because of chemo? Is it something I did? It’s really heartbreaking and exhausting, but you’ve got to be able to talk through it. You’ve got to be able to listen.”

Band of brothers

Outside support is invaluable for both partners, these men said. But be careful to find the right fit, Norske added.

Some women’s groups seem to get stuck stirring a pot of trauma and pain and never do move on, both men noted; Norske said his partner came home more upset, not less, from some meetings, and he urged her to quit. It created tension between them, but he felt sure he was right and she eventually agreed. She went on to make many survivor friends through the Pink Lemonade Project; while not a formal support group, these peers “have been fabulous for her emotionally,” Norske said.

What about partner groups? Urke was initially reluctant to bare his soul to anybody, but accompanied his wife to a Pink Lemonade Project couples retreat where the guys split off in a separate group — and the floodgates burst wide open.

“It was amazing how we bonded,” Urke said. “It was like long-lost friends finding each other. It was so natural. We were soldiers, in a way — a band of brothers because of what we had battled, albeit separately, but we came together.”

“God, what a breath of fresh air,” Norske said. ” ‘Is this just me? No, it’s exactly what’s going on in our house.’ Sometimes you think you’re the only person in the world with these particular feelings. You’re absolutely not.”

“We got a lot of affirmation and one of the big things was, we all understood that our wives had to go through the stages of grief,” said Urke. “The group came to the realization that we had to go through the same thing. The girls were not alone there.”

Both men said these bonds have proven deep and lasting.

Clear your head

Norske would occasionally escape to the garage or his boat to putter around for a few hours, he said, because that’s his idea of fun. He strongly recommends boys’ nights out or even weekends away if that’s possible. Movies, sports, hiking — “Whatever it takes to clear your head, that’s important,” he said.

“I’m kind of lazy,” Urke chuckled. “My idea of recreation is watching an action picture. Knowing that genre is not high on my wife’s list of favorites, I’d wait until after she was in bed and put on some Schwarzenegger. It kind of helped me — knowing she was resting and I could just shut down for a while.”

His wife slept more than she used to while undergoing chemotherapy, he said, and he came to value the extra quiet time.

Accepting change

Here’s the really tough stuff for many men.

Breast cancer “can be horribly hard on relationships,” said Norske. “Especially newer relationships. It’s such a game-changing diagnosis. Even if you don’t have surgery, chemo and radiation beat you up pretty good. It changes the skin.” The accompanying medication can “flatten” the libido, he said.

“If you go from rip-roaring to ho-hum, that can be hard on a relationship,” he said.

“It’s a new paradigm to adjust to, with the understanding that hopefully it’s temporary, but you just don’t know,” said Urke.

Some adjustments definitely won’t be temporary, he added. His wife’s breasts lost a great deal of sensitivity after surgery, “and that’s a real loss for her. On the couples retreat, they asked the women to write a list of losses. I thought it would be a good idea for the men to do the same thing.”

“We even changed the foods we ate” because chemotherapy changed Jori’s sense of taste, Norske said. The couple couldn’t travel the way they love to because they needed to save money and time off from work, he added.

“It affects everything,” Norske wrote in an email.

Better men

“Cancer never goes away, at least in your head,” Norske said. “It’s been three years since her last major surgery and she still wonders, ‘What will my next checkup be like?’ She can never really get away from it.” Therefore, Norske said, the partner “can never stop being supportive.”

“It’s not a job for somebody who’s really self-centered,” he said. “If you are very visually focused, it might be disconcerting. Your partner used to have great-looking breasts but now maybe she’s got one and it’s shriveled. She wants to look attractive, too. Jori is a beautiful woman, and when she had chemo, her gorgeous hair fell out.

“Some men cannot handle it,” he said. “But I would say, if you have such poor self-esteem that you grade yourself on how your partner looks, you’re not going to make it. I encourage Jori all the time that she looks great. I love her for who she is. I think it’s unfortunate that some men are so shallow that if somebody is slightly imperfect because of breast cancer, they can’t accept it.”

Urke’s wife’s experience has inspired her to build on her people skills, he said, and become a one-on-one mentor for the Pink Lemonade Project. “She’s taken the worst part of her life and used it to embrace something she always wanted to do,” he said.

The same goes for Urke, he said. He’s not a formal mentor, but he’s far more able to articulate his own difficult feelings and be a support to others in the same boat.

“I’m being the guy I wanted to be,” he said. “Since going through all this, I understand myself so much better.”