1 The Beginning of the End
I have spent considerable time over the last few weeks trying to make up my mind whether to restart this blog.
I finally decided that I would restart it, but that I wouldn’t advertise the restart. If you’re one of those people who check this space periodically to see if I’ve decided to say something, you’ll catch it, and you can tell anyone you like.
In the meantime, I will write what I want to write and say what I want to say, and whoever reads it can think what they want to think.
So what is it that I want to say?
Well, first, to cut to the chase, a couple of months ago I was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer and told that, assuming I can be treated at all, I had about 2 years left to go.
The actual situation is considerably more complicated than that, and in many ways worse—it’s truly astounding the numbers of medications I have bad side effect reactions to—but I don’t understand enough about medical things to explain it.
It also sort of bores me silly. Doctors may be interested in why I can’t handle Letrozole. I’m only interested in the fact that I can’t.
But I am interested in other things, and the other things are why I have restarted this blog.
Some of those things are essentially petty. I saw my late husband through terminal cancer, and I can tell you that the process is a war, and not just in the ways you think.
Yes, the money and the resources are constantly draining. You run out of cash and food and God only knows what else.
But the emotional stuff is far worse. It is completely astounding to me how many people in the “helping professions” will lie straight to your face, will pull every passive-aggressive manipulation in the book, will outright bully knowing that you’re too emotionally (and often physically) weak to fight back.
So, okay. There may be some stuff about what’s in that last paragraph.
I sometimes get beaten down and then, when I have a chance to collect myself, absolutely furious.
But some of the things I’ve been thinking about are not so petty.
We all know, from the beginning, that life will end eventually. I don’t know why it takes a time limit to make that feel real.
But it does. Or at least it does for me.
So part of what I want to talk about is that kind of thing. God, maybe. Meaning, if there is any such thing. Why the easiest way to get me angry is to tell me everything happens for a reason.
I’ll get to it. I’ll try to number each of the blog posts in this series.
Well see what I wander into.
5 Responses to '1 The Beginning of the End'
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
I am so very sorry. Yes, we are all mortal, and I have a date sort of penciled in, as in “remember to have everything done by___.” But I don’t know how I’d react if I were given a time in your range–long enough to react, but much too short.
The caring professions. It’s probably inevitable. Most people are in them because they’re interested in other people, the operating premise is that they know more about what’s good for people than the people do themselves, and they have a lot or power and immunity on top of that.
And some of them would be useless if they second-guessed themselves. I had dealings with surgeons myself last year, and quoted to one the description “sometimes mistaken, but never in doubt.” He grinned and said they described themselves in similar fashion.
Thoughts and prayers.
robert_piepenbrink
19 Apr 18 at 9:39 am
Jane, I’ll keep you in my thoughts.
My mom died just over a year ago, after 2 years fighting ovarian cancer. It was a war, engulfing the whole family. My mom fought with fierce courage, the rest of us supported her unflinchingly. Having advocates with her in every dealing with health care people gave her those 24 months, otherwise she would have likely died in the first illness that led to her diagnosis.
As a survivor left behind, from my perspective those months, even filled as they were with medical crap, and with her increasing pain and debility, were precious beyond belief. I established a new relationship with my mother, closer than we’d ever had before. I learned where my own strength comes from. And now I miss her every day. We used that time to create wonderful memories. When she felt well, we took her places so she could fill her mind with new experiences. When she didn’t feel well enough, we spent time, so she knew she wasn’t alone.
I’m so sorry this tribulation has come to you. Lean on your sons, and your friends. Reach out, create memories, eat all the treats.
Lymaree
21 Apr 18 at 1:08 pm
Oh no! We all have to go but that is not my preferred way. You have my sympathy – what more can I say?
My thanks to Matt for his Facebook posts.
jd
21 Apr 18 at 7:38 pm
So sorry, Jane.
Mique
21 Apr 18 at 9:08 pm
I am so sorry to hear your news.
Cheryl
6 Jun 18 at 6:07 pm