A Crack in the Foundation

I rarely talk about it. In large part because my family gives me the big 'Pshaw!' and changes the subject everytime I bring it up. Add to that Mr X's extreme denial and we have this giant elephant in the room that everyone is ignoring.
Every now and then it demands peanuts and I'm forced to think about it. I don't like to think about it. I've thought too much about it in the past 2 years.
But it's hard to ignore when your husband comes home from his Dr's appointment and tells you he doesn't think it's a good idea to have any more kids because he's not going to be around to raise them with you. Then everything falls apart. If and when don't matter. I feel like I'm trapped in one of Girl X's snowglobes and someone keeps shaking it. I can't get my footing.
He's 35. This isn't supposed to happen now.
A deep breath. Try to remember that I wasn't there so I don't know what the Dr said. He's scared and overwhelmed. All Mr X can say is that of the two types of his disease, his is the worst. The medicine isn't working.
Deep breath and I can feel the steel in my spine. It's not working yet. But it will. Because there are no other options.
If only by the sheer force of my will, these next 9 weeks will pass and we will sit in his Dr's office together. We will look again at his blood tests and it will show that the medicine is working. And our world will be righted again.
I won't have to pretend I'm not scared. We won't discuss cremation vs burial, whether I should move closer to my parents, if I won't shatter into a million pieces simply by missing him.
A deep breath and I pretend to have shoved this all into the back of my mind. I pretend everything is as it should be because the alternative is too much to bear.
9 weeks is suddenly very far away.