How am I doing?

Tonight my husband said he is tired of chemo. Tired of the toxic chemicals, tired of the smell, tired of being tired. This brave man, a night owl by habit and profession, is in bed asleep and it's only 8:45 p.m.

What can a wife say, besides "I love you and I'm proud of you"? He's been battling this cancer — lymphoma — full-throttle since the preliminary diagnosis on Oct. 31. And he's winning. Five chemos down, one more to go on March 31, then a month off for the chemo to do its thing, followed by a CT scan. Then we'll know if he needs chemos 7 and 8, or if he's done.

After all this time, however, I still haven't come up with a good answer for the frequent question: "How are YOU doing, Melissa?"

I know it's asked sincerely, but I'm not inclined to burden people with what it's like to be in survival mode...again. We had just emerged from our first year as parents of an active preschooler from India when the cancer hit. Let's just say the house is in chaos, my office is a mess, and I've decided to call it a good day when I get a balanced meal on the table, the laundry or dishes done, my daughter's basic needs met, and the correct combination of post-chemo meds into my husband. Anything else accomplished is extra.

So tonight when my husband confessed to a physical weariness that he feels at his very core, I flashed back to last fall.

Just days before this shock, I had attended the annual Women Helping Women Tri-Cities (http://www.whwftc.org/) fundraiser with my mom. The speaker was great: Barbara Stanny, a financial adviser specializing in helping women understand their money (http://www.barbarastanny.com/).

One of the things she said at that luncheon was that the average widow was age 56 when her husband died. That surprised me at the time, and got me thinking about all the financial things that I don't have under control and don't completely understand.

Four days later, we found out Andy probably had cancer. Six weeks later at the first chemo, we found out it was even worse than we originally thought. Three more days, and the first chemo treatment had melted the two most obvious lymphoma masses — a faint glow of optimism replaced the tears and fear in our home. Now, the doctor says Andy has had a "dramatic and profound response to the chemo" and he thinks this next chemo will do the trick.

So how am I doing? A lot better, thanks, now that I know Andy is going to live.