You get to participate in the roller coaster of emotions that happens to be "Cancer Schmancer."
Feeling... okay today. Not great. Not horrible. Love the nausea that goes along with this fannypack. I think it's a Pavlov's Dog reaction that when I hear the pump adding another dose, I want to throw up. Luckily I don't. But sometimes it would just feel better if I did.
I'll be hanging out with this thing till about 2 this afternoon. Good times.
I am considering taking a 'me' break. I have no idea where I will go or what I'll do- though the beach sounds nice. Maybe just drive to drive, and see how far the cash in my purse would take me.
Too bad I can't get a break from thinking about cancer. I've said it before and I'll say it again: A disease like this does not deserve to be the all-consuming factor in my life. I don't want to be known as the cancer chick. I mean, I know I am to most of you because that's what this blog is all about. I kinda hope each time I write here that if I say what I'm thinking, then I won't have to think about it anymore. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't and I just end up typing and crying. And crying about it later too. I wish it was like money... if I spend those emotions here, I won't have them later. (The bad ones, that is.)
Hasn't really been working lately.
Ups and Downs and everything in between. It's so hard to NOT think of everything as "will this be a waste of precious time?" I take a nap in the afternoon and I feel guilty because I'm not picking the girls up. I should be exercising, but I'm tired and if I did have energy, I should be spending that energy with the girls, or cleaning the house? Or should I make myself exercise because it may help me live longer? Or should I just pray for a miracle and spend the precious time with the girls? But if I'm tired, I'm worthless.
See what I mean?
I want a brain break... but how do you do that? If you have TOO much time on your hands, you go nuts with the barrage of STUFF you should think about and the stuff you're trying so desperately to forget.
Yeah, I realize I've gone downhill since talking to Dr. Rose. It was one thing to think I had 5 years. Who knows what could happen in those 5 years? A cure? Better treatment? Better prognosis? That's TIME. My Vera would be 5+ years and could- quite possibly have some good memories of me. And Iris would be 7. That's more TIME to be with my girls and myself.
But TIME is of the essence. You really DON'T know what you would do if someone said it was entirely possible that you would be dead in a year until it's the absolute truth. You can pretend to for a few moments. But unless you put post-it notes up all around your house with your projected expiration date- you would enevitably 'forget' your experiment.
If I can have the MOAS (Mother Of All Surgeries- as the PMP-ers call it) it won't be until October because I just had a surgery in March and need 6 months of heal time. Then I'd need recovery time after that. By the time all is said and done- ti will be just about 2 years out from diagnosis. And that's the PRD. (In Navy terms- Projected Rotation Date... the date you leave your current station and command. I think I will just use that term from here out. Because in the Navy- your PRD can come and go and nothing- or you can leave right on that date, leave earlier or you can get an extension. Seems applicable) Until then- chemo- but I can't have a key ingredient (Avastin) for at least 8 weeks before surgery because it can cause major blood loss. But the Avastin is a hard hitter to the cancer supposedly. Piss.
Can't win for losing.
I don't know how to shake the crud. Maybe a meeting with the new doctor will breathe some new hope into this shell.
I can't help but compare myself a bit to my aunt who died at the age of 30 after battling breast cancer. When was diagnosed she had a daughter that was about the same age Vera was when I was diagnosed. She died just about 2 years later. (too familiar) Her youngest daughter doesn't remember her. When she refers to her- she calls her "Lucy" instead of "Mom." And that BREAKS MY HEART. For her, for Lucy, for Vera, for me. I don't want Vera calling me "Rachel." I am and will always BE her Mommy. I think about that all the time. I'm just muddling through wondering again, what kind of mark have I made on the world? A scratch? A bug bite? No matter. All that matters to me is that my girls grow up happy... and have GOOD memories of me. I know, I know. Make videos, write letters, take lots of pictures. It's all so forced. MAKE GOOD TIMES WITH YOUR CHILDREN AND DOCUMENT IT SO YOUR KIDS KNOW YOU LOVED THEM.
Kinda takes the fun out of it though- doesn't it?
I desperately want my sense of humor back. Now, in all fairness, I CAN be somewhat jovial in reality. But I can't transfer it to this blog so easily right now. Just know that I DO still laugh and joke and do stupid things. I really just vent here. Sorry for you.
And my apologies for dropping the F-bomb. But if you know me at all, you had to know that was coming by the end of the post. :)
It is honestly a better day. Even better when I get this damnedable Fannypack off, jump in my insurance company's butts and have a Peach Snapple. Mmmmm. Peach Snapple. Reminds me of El Centro, CA- where we ate nothing but Cup-O-Noodles and drank nothing but Beer, Water and Peach Snapple. You can get away with that when you're 19... and the legal drinking age on base is 18. :)