Pain, Hope, Fear -- and other four-letter words
As I was reading over old blog entries tonight, I realized that my attempt to make it less moody and more informative has actually succeeded only in making it boring.
Tonight I want to talk about my hopes and fears, like I did in the early days of my blog.
Actually, my greatest hope is that this radiation will work and then the cancer will leave me alone and let me enjoy my summer. I want to swim and play in the water; I want to dream of (and work toward) walking. I want to have picnics and cookouts, and to just sit out in the sunshine (okay, shade) and soak up the beautiful peacefulness of summer.
Fears? These are the things that I think about when I can't sleep at night: Where is the cancer growing now? What suffering lies ahead for me? Am I going to die? When? How will I ever say good-bye to Don, the kids, my family, my friends, and everyone else in my beautifully-crazy life?
I guess the bottom line is the same for all cancer patients. I don't want to die. I don't want to suffer. I don't want to give up everything that makes me "me". Cancer is a cruel and terrible way to die. It rips so many things from you, yet leaves with the often-false hope that the painful, horrific treatments will somehow cure it and you'll go right back to living your life. (Yeah, I've lost my hair, dropped 60 pounds, can't walk anymore, and have vomited until my stomach is inside-out, but, hey, when this is all over, I'll be good as new! Better actually, because suffering brings out the best in a person - right?)
And haven't I beat this dead horse on the blog before now? Of course I have, because that's what is on my mind. Just for the record -- OH WHAT I WOULD GIVE TO HAVE SOMETHING ELSE ON MY MIND!!!!! The problem is that this is my life right now, my life with cancer. I have to somehow weave the ordinary joys and aggravations and tasks of being a wife and mother and friend and human with the unthinkable realization of the monster that lives inside of me.
No matter how hard I try, it's impossible to completely quell the fear. It hangs over my head all of the time, a menacing cloud, ready to burst open and soak me in its hard, cold downpour.
Tonight I want to talk about my hopes and fears, like I did in the early days of my blog.
Actually, my greatest hope is that this radiation will work and then the cancer will leave me alone and let me enjoy my summer. I want to swim and play in the water; I want to dream of (and work toward) walking. I want to have picnics and cookouts, and to just sit out in the sunshine (okay, shade) and soak up the beautiful peacefulness of summer.
Fears? These are the things that I think about when I can't sleep at night: Where is the cancer growing now? What suffering lies ahead for me? Am I going to die? When? How will I ever say good-bye to Don, the kids, my family, my friends, and everyone else in my beautifully-crazy life?
I guess the bottom line is the same for all cancer patients. I don't want to die. I don't want to suffer. I don't want to give up everything that makes me "me". Cancer is a cruel and terrible way to die. It rips so many things from you, yet leaves with the often-false hope that the painful, horrific treatments will somehow cure it and you'll go right back to living your life. (Yeah, I've lost my hair, dropped 60 pounds, can't walk anymore, and have vomited until my stomach is inside-out, but, hey, when this is all over, I'll be good as new! Better actually, because suffering brings out the best in a person - right?)
And haven't I beat this dead horse on the blog before now? Of course I have, because that's what is on my mind. Just for the record -- OH WHAT I WOULD GIVE TO HAVE SOMETHING ELSE ON MY MIND!!!!! The problem is that this is my life right now, my life with cancer. I have to somehow weave the ordinary joys and aggravations and tasks of being a wife and mother and friend and human with the unthinkable realization of the monster that lives inside of me.
No matter how hard I try, it's impossible to completely quell the fear. It hangs over my head all of the time, a menacing cloud, ready to burst open and soak me in its hard, cold downpour.
1 Comments:
Hey Sharon, I'm thinking of you! I'm putting a neato package in the mail to you tomorrow! Smiles and hugs! ~Lorie
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