My wife’s breast cancer was my lemon. Humor and talking have been my lemonade. More accurately, it’s been our lemonade.

Two-and-a-half years ago, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. The flurry of tests that followed showed it was Stage 4, having started in her left breast but quickly spread to one of her lungs.

Her response to when the news was confirmed sums up her character: “I don’t have time for this shit.”

These words came after we cried and tried to wrap our heads around life altering news. She was on the cusp of turning 30, our daughter was not yet 3, and it all seemed surreal. But her first cohesive statement was one of a tough woman, not to be trifled with.

Then, me being me, I made with stupid jokes. That’s what I do. Really dumb, inappropriate jokes that only a woman like my wife could tolerate at a time like that. I’m pretty sure that after I got the first sobbing laugh, I said, “Well, at least you’ve still got your sense of tumor.”

(That was shamelessly ripped off from an Eric Roberts movie, the name of which escapes me.)

A few days later I figured it was a wise decision to let her know I’d orchestrated a surprise party for her 30th. She dislikes surprises and hates surprise parties, in particular. Naturally, I thought if I could just find the right surprise, she’d see the joy in it. Well, recent events convinced me otherwise.

Surprisingly, she didn’t want to cancel the party. Awful news has a way of making you keen on surrounding yourself with love, and that’s the sort of vibe you get at a party. She put on a “surprised face” that was Oscar worthy.

The years that followed brought chemo and surgeries … and more chemo. That bit that made it to her lung? It’s stubborn, almost as stubborn as she is, and it refuses to go away. Still, she has a phenomenal medical team at her side, and there’s love and support all over the place.

I could tell you that the most important element of this part of our lives has been having an amazing support network, but it wouldn’t be entirely true. It’s been hugely important, to be sure. Knowing that family and friends have rallied around us countless times in the past, and will do so as often as is needed, has been invaluable. But it hasn’t been the most important thing.

I could say that our relationship has been the cornerstone to getting through this, but that’s not quite true, either. Yes, it has been a source of strength for when we’ve needed it, but then again, playing Cards Against Humanity has done a lot for the soul, too. (Seriously, I mean that, that game has saved our sanity more than once.)

I would love to tell you that raising our daughter has been the thing that we’ve rallied behind, but, no, not that. The routine and chaos of parenting has been a blessed anchor in all of this, don’t get me wrong. The kid still needs a bath, no matter what, and having those moments of doing laundry and dishes has, in its own strange way, been a kind of zen task that has helped keep us anchored in the Now.

You can have one of those hell-on-earth days, but when your kid is all pumped up about telling her first knock knock jokes, well, that’s a moment to really appreciate.

What about the medical professionals, the doctors and nurses? Surely, their devotion and hard work, not to mention the generations of medical knowledge they stand upon, is the most crucial of elements, right? Nope. Not to take away, one iota, from the doctors and nurses and all they do. These people are caretakers, first and foremost, and they’re taking care of my lovely wife.

I have baked cookies for almost all of them. Well, I’ve tried, but there’s been a lot of medical staff involved over the years. I don’t mean to forget anyone, truly, but my memory isn’t my greatest asset, I assure you. Even with chemo brain, my wife can still remember circles around me.

So, what is the big take away? Communication.

While open communication is important for any relationship at any stage, when you enter into a survival mode scenario, it becomes brutally important. Being on the same page, and having multiple people and parties to deal with, too, and keeping it all coherent and relatively organized, and yet flexible as needed?

You damn well better be able to communicate.

The support network that has been instrumental in this fight against cancer, the friends and family that have made so much possible, wouldn’t have been able to support us if we hadn’t made them aware. The medical staff wouldn’t be able to treat my wife successfully without keeping her informed of the best options. My wife and I wouldn’t have the strong relationship we have now if we didn’t talk to each other.

In fact, I fully plan on telling my wife about this email.

After I’ve sent it.