When the person you love most in the world is diagnosed with cancer, life as you knew it changes forever. I won’t speak for everyone, but such has been the case for me. Specifically, an odd thing has happened with time. In some ways, now that Cathy is undergoing chemotherapy, time has often slowed down. I think it’s because we do all we can to not think too far ahead when it comes to her treatment. Our mantra is “one day at a time, one step at a time.” This slowing of time narrows our focus, and we pay more attention to the here and now. We give thanks for the smallest of blessings.

Cathy had a tough week, but she had a good day yesterday, and she’s having a good day today. On days like these, we can almost pretend life is exactly what it was before her diagnosis. Almost. It’s not that we deny what’s happening, but we’ve learned to give thanks while also staying focused on the challenges still to be met on our journey. She’ll have another treatment on Tuesday, and we’re prepared for the extreme fatigue and bouts of low blood pressure that have been following her previous treatments. As one of my former MFA students and friend, speaking from personal experience, recently told me, “Cancer treatment is an endurance sport.”

Cathy and I are fully committed to the fight ahead—she as the warrior she’s always been and I as her caretaker. This doesn’t mean we don’t need words of love and encouragement from time to time. I’m only saying we’ll meet what we have to meet and do what we must do all in due time.

Cathy has a saying she’s always liked to use: “Don’t sweat the small stuff because in the end it’s all small stuff.” She’s better than I at not dwelling too long on the complications and hiccups during her treatment. My inclination, as a natural-born worrier, is to feel the weight of anything that goes wrong. I stew and fret, and that’s when time begins to speed up and I start to spiral. I have good friends who’ve given me excellent advise on how to handle moments when I feel myself spinning with no way to stop, but, as we all know, sometimes old habits die hard.

I’ve never known a steadier person than Cathy. She’s my ballast, my stabilizer. It’s clear to me why she was an excellent healthcare professional for over forty years. Trust me, if there’s ever an emergency, she’s the one you want on your side. I’m doing my best to be calm and steady through our journey, but there are times I disappoint myself, and maybe I disappoint Cathy as well.

For most of my adult life, I’ve been obsessed with my career. Don’t get me wrong. It still matters a great deal to me, but I’m truly learning what Cathy means about not sweating the small stuff. Petty annoyances and extreme disappointments pale in comparison to what’s happening with her health. Life often has a way of teaching us what’s truly important.

When I started writing this post, I intended, as I usually do, to draw some lesson about writing from my personal experience, but this time there’s nothing I want to say that might help people along their writers’ journeys, unless it’s this. Find out what truly matters to your characters. Put that at the center of your stories. Let time expand or diminish at the appropriate places in your narrative. Connect everything to the center—the heart—of what your characters value. Let pressure take them to places they’ve never had to occupy. Find out what the journey means to them.

Right now, Cathy and I are living a love story that’s being tested by a challenge. I like what the narrative is showing us about each other and about who we are as a team. No matter the hard moments, I try to remember to give thanks for the time we have to cherish our commitment and our love.