Cob was on the couch, the TV on. I noticed at once he’d lost more weight. His eyes were more sunken in his head and his skin seemed to hang on his face. Even though he was reclining, I could see his clothes were loose on him and there was a vomit bucket he’d missed on the floor beside him.

His eyes came to mine.

“I can’t… I can’t…” He shook his head. “I don’t have it in me to clean it up, sweetheart,” he finished on a whisper.

“Of course not,” I whispered back, closed the door, and rushed forward, dropping my bag on an armchair that made Brock’s old furniture look like it belonged in an interior design magazine. “I’ll get this sorted, don’t worry,” I said softly as I pulled off my coat and dropped it on the chair.

“It’s also…” He pressed his lips together. “I also couldn’t make it to the bathroom when I was lyin’ in bed.”

Great. More vomit.

I nodded, buried my distaste for my upcoming chore as well as the smell hanging in the house, and smiled. “Okay, honey.”

I went to work, clearing his immediate space first and scrounging in the kitchen for a big bowl to give him just in case another wave came on. Then I set about dealing with the mess on the bedroom carpet. Then I realized that even with the cleanup, the smell lingered.

I needed to do something about that. The smell was making me sick and I wasn’t having chemotherapy.

I walked back to the living room and said, “Okay, cleanup done but I’m heading to the store to get some stuff to deal with this smell. Do you need anything else?”

He shook his head. “Laurie and Jill keep me pretty well stocked.”

I nodded but replied, “I’ll just go look. And, I know this doesn’t sound great right now, but if you can keep it down, you need dinner so we’ll get you set up when I get back.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

I studied him a second and then, gently, I queried, “Cob, don’t they give you something for the nausea?”

His face shut down almost to stubborn but he was too weak to manage even that.

Then he stated, “So many damned pills.”

“I can imagine, but you need to keep your strength up,” I advised.

“For what?” he asked, his eyes never leaving mine.

“To fight,” I answered, again gently.

He continued to hold my eyes, then his moved to the TV.

Damn.

I gave up, hit the kitchen, did an inventory, found a piece of paper to make a list, and headed out, stopping to lean down and kiss Cob’s cheek on my way out.