How to Deal

 

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 frankly, I’m exhausted. Let’s take a look at my history. I’ve had malignant melanoma, or skin cancer, three times. I’ve had a benign tumour removed from my breast, emergency gallbladder surgery, a hysterectomy and hernia repair. Oh, and getting diagnosed Bipolar type one, that was a fun time too. At least things finally made sense. But brain cancer. Didn’t see that one coming. Nope.

The picture that you see online is just that, a picture. I’m doing my best to put positivity out there because maybe if I type it, I’ll believe it myself. But the truth is, yes I have fleeting moments where I feel like I can get through to the other side, but then I remember there is no other side to this. The fact of the matter is that they are telling us they don’t believe it will shrink, they are just trying to keep it at bay and buy me more time. And isn’t that a scary fucking thought. Thirty fucking three years old and I have no idea how much time I have left with my kids, my husband, my family, my friends. 

But as tired as I am, and trust me, I’m exhausted, I’m going to fight for them. For everyone who loves me, for the people I love. And as these thoughts went through me the first time, I started thinking about different people in my life, things I’ve done wrong in all of these different relationships, from my parents to my husband, my best friend, my own kids and extended family members. And the negativity overwhelms me as I am texting back and forth with my best friend. Apologizing for every little thing that didn’t even matter anymore. I sat on my couch and sobbed as I told her I deserved what was happening to me. I didn’t feel that I was a good person and karma was a bitch.

These feelings were hitting me hard and fast. The house was quiet and I was awake on the couch. I woke my husband up. He’ll tell you he wasn’t asleep yet, but I think he’s just trying to make me feel better. He held me tight as my mind asked irrational questions. Questions I actually found myself asking him out loud. “Do you really think there’s heaven or hell?” “How do you know I you deserve heaven?” “What if I’m not a good enough person to get peace?” I cried and I cried and he never let up, his hold on me never faltered. He held me so tight it made me physically aware of where I was, how I was feeling and he was able to calm me down just by making me very aware of my own breathing.

I didn’t sleep much that night, but I finally realized that I had accepted that I have inoperable, incurable brain cancer. I’m doing my best to grasp at the good moments. Getting to celebrate my daughters birthday with one of my best girl friends, Easter dinner and hearing some positive news from another close family member, family photos. And the outreach the community has shown has been absolutely amazing. We’ve had some amazing encounters, met some incredibly generous people and just the messages, donations, all of it, you have no idea what it truly means to me. Having bipolar disorder, I’ve spent most of my life not feeling accepted by others, struggling to hold on to friendships, and thinking down on myself. To have this much love and support is overwhelming, but to you, my hometown, thank you. I finally feel like I belong. And that gives me the drive to push forward. To everyone following this journey, thank you for reading my words and hearing my story. I promise you, it’s far from over