February 17, 2012

#poopstrong

As some of you lovely readers know, there have been goings-on here in PHX regarding The Husband.  I've generally been beating around the issue, mostly because it's not something I enjoy spending a lot of time thinking or talking about.  One of the wonderful things about this little corner of the Internet that I carved out for myself was that I didn't have to talk about it; I could use this space to focus on the things I enjoy, the fun things in life that I wanted to share with all 10 of you who read this.  This little blog was my refuge from the storm, in a way—a little binary-coded spot where I could ramble on about scones and cats and other lovely frivolous things.

However, sometimes Real Life manages to sneak in anyway.  I mentioned the happenings in passing, mostly because I felt an obligation to explain my random and sustained absences.  At that same time, though, I realized that as much as I didn't want to talk about it, sometimes I needed to.  Pretending as though nothing is wrong gets tiring, even when it comes to infrequent postings on a little crafty blog.

So, rather than pretend any longer, here you go:  The Husband has cancer.  Specifically, stage IV colon cancer, which he was diagnosed with this time last year, just two months after his 30th birthday.  And that The Husband is the man behind Poop Strong, which seems to be blowing up a portion of the Internet.

It has been a long and strange ride since then.  He's undergone two major surgeries and multiple chemo treatments.  We've made more of the four-hour roundtrip drives between PHX and Tucson (where he gets treatment) than I care to count.  It's been scary, exhausting, frustrating, lonely, and disorienting.

However, things have also been inspiring and uplifting and happy.  We've been incredibly fortunate in so many respects: The Husband (whose real name is Arijit) has been receiving excellent care; his youth and relative health have made tolerating the intensive chemo much easier; we have wonderful friends and family, who have been amazingly supportive throughout everything; and we're both stubborn and unwilling to back down.  Because of all this, we've been able to generally keep living life as usual, and that's not something that every family facing cancer can say.

We've also been lucky in that we have insurance coverage, through Arizona State University (where Arijit is a PhD student in their School of Sustainability).  However, in just a year, he has maxed out on his insurance, which has a lifetime cap of $300,000 in benefits. As such, we are now responsible for all expenses relating to this treatment.  Thankfully, this should just be a temporary situation, as Arijit should be re-insured in August (either through the new ASU student health plan that is being negotiated now, or by purchasing insurance through the Pre-Existing Condition program offered via the Affordable Care Act). 

Until then, though, we need to pay for Arijit's care out-of-pocket.  We've been working with the Patient Advocate at the University of Arizona Cancer Center to get his medications at reduced cost and get some of his treatment costs written off, but we estimate that six months of treatment—assuming that nothing changes—will cost at least $100,000.

Strangely enough, we don't have $100,000.

To help offset the costs of treatment, we've started up Poop Strong, a site dedicated to raising money and keeping Arijit on track to get better.  We're accepting donations; selling hilarious, poop-and-colon-related apparel; and generally raising awareness of the awesomeness of my husband and the tragedy of our healthcare system.  If you're so inclined, stop by, read more of The Husband's story, and give if you can.  Even if you can't donate, which we entirely understand, please help spread the word: the more people we reach, the more likely we are to hit our goal.  If you're on Facebook, like us here and you'll get access to the incredibly lame poop jokes I post as the inspiration strikes.


Thanks for reading, and for your support.  We now return to your regularly-scheduled inanity.

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