The Life of Riley; A Story of Resilience

One week down. Forever to go. However, my headaches were minimal. On the down side, I’ve never felt exhaustion like this in my life. And my stomach just isn’t right at all. The travelling is definitely taking its toll. I can barely hold my eyes open in the car, but our little Kia Soul doesn’t have optimum napping space. On day 3, I was somehow able to keep my good eye open when they put my mask on. It’s a whole new level of freaky when you can kind of see what’s going on around you. This day was our late appointment as we were supposed to meet with the doctor. We only met with nurses however, but got into some information that we hadn’t thought to ask about. Thursday and Friday were the same as the other days. I’d go in, put the mask on, lay on a table for 10 minutes while lasers danced on me, get up, go home. Friday I received the following weeks schedule and called and booked my weekly bloodwork. Can I also point out something that happened this week? My husband went from no city dri...

  The following week was followed with another MRI of my brain, 100 000 phone calls, appointments made for more MRI’s and then cancelled as the machine broke. Which was pretty convenient as we were already headed to Cape Breton for the weekend for our daughters cheerleading provincials and it would mean an extra, long stop on an already exhausting drive. It was a weekend filled with hiccups, time with family, time with friends, teamwork and fun. Being able to gather with our favourite cheer families and enjoy our time together was what I really needed to keep my mind settled and distracted. The weekend was long and tiring and maybe I should’ve listened to my husband and stayed home to rest before I started treatments, but I’m still glad that we did go and see our daughter kill it on the mats. We got home at 8:30pm Sunday night. So much unpacking, getting settled, starting laundry, reading through instructions of what to do the next morning. My mind wouldn’t shut off. My husband wen...

  This is where the words get hard. It’s very much like the different stages of grief. I had spent a greater portion of this time, up until now, in denial. No, this isn’t real, it’s some kind of fog that I’m just floating through while my phone rings off the hook with appointments that I will never fully remember because I spent half of it disassociating.  The chemo appointment went as best as it could. I didn’t need the infusions, I only needed to take a pill that cost half my mortgage a month. Thank god for Pharmacare and insurance. The side effects not near as intense as the infusions, the worst of my expected side effects would come from radiation. But I began to dwell. And as they nurse spoke to my husband and I, I went off in my head again, because suddenly she was showing us a mock schedule of what chemo and radiation together would look like and it was becoming too real and very, very scary.  Now I have spent most of my life fighting to just get by. And frank...

                                                             Thank god for Xanax, let me start with that. Driving into the city, we were running way too early. We stopped at Michael’s craft store in Bayer’s Lake, my new favourite store. I grabbed as many Perler beads as I could before my husband could say no. That was the highlight of the day. We arrived at the Dixon centre again, way too early, but this time it was because we were given the wrong appointment time. The took me to get changed in a johnny shirt and housecoat and took us to a separate waiting area. Things were starting to feel real finally as we watched people struggling as they walked by with their heads wrapped and looking sickly. Again, thank god for Xanax or I would’ve broken down then.  A nurse pulled us into a room to discuss the process. They had a large piec...

Telling the kids was one of the hardest things we did. We do everything we can to be as honest and open with them as can be. But there are things that preteens/teenagers just don’t need to know. They know that I have brain cancer. They know that I need treatments, both radiation and oncology. These treatments were going to be hard on my body. We reached out to teachers, friends parents, guidance counsellors, coaches. We did everything we could possibly do to make sure the kids had as much support as possible. The next morning, I started the journey; steroids and a stomach pill. The steroids were used in hopes of bringing the swelling down enough so my persistent headaches would go away, and maybe my eye would improve too. They were cautiously given to me the day before by the pharmacist. Steroids can cause mood fluctuations and hormone imbalances in everyone. Add bipolar to the mix and I was guaranteed manic episodes. It was still early, probably 10 am, when my radiation oncologist cal...

I guess no one expects to hear the words brain cancer, especially when you’ve already been told it’s not brain cancer. It started with symptoms that mirrored a stroke, one side of my face was slightly drooped and my left eye had already started to swell shut, but had picked up speed quite quickly. I was often getting stopped and asked if I had Bells Palsy or a stroke because of the deformities. This is when I finally reached out to my family doctor. Upon the initial appointment, she also agreed with me, it looked as if though I had a stroke. And we both agreed that a CT Scan was the way to go. Results didn’t take long to come back. No evidence of having a stroke, but it was clear that something was going on. My eye was shutting more and more as the days went by. Driving at night became impossible and was recommended to stick with daytime hours of driving. Not a problem, my job was during daylight hours. After an unsuccessful CT Scan, I was referred for an MRI. Sedated, and put into a t...