When A Spouse Dies from Cholangiocarcinoma: Praise for Single Parents

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. Check out Danielle’s blogs here!

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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