He looked up at me with those deep chocolate puppy eyes. "Why are you telling me all this."
I might not always be around to help you care for yourself. It is my job to teach you these things.
"Why do I have to learn it now?"
You are old enough to do these things and I may not be here sooner then we'd like. My time here with you is coming to an end faster then we like. And, I may not be able to teach you these things next year.
"So, don't you have to get all old and grey first?"
Yes, that is what is supposed to happen but my body got sick. I have cancer, you know we have talked about this. It keeps trying to take me away from you. We don't know when this will happen so I want to teach you all I know now.
Son touches my hair, sits up, really inspects it. "May that is why your hair turned grey this time. It,,Mom, I think it looks a little brownish underneath. Maybe it will come in brown soon then you won't be old."
On the day someone tells you that options are running out, it could be a year, or next month, you are left with a huge whole in your sole. I know, because I have done it three times. I have sat across my oncologist as he nervously shifts in on his stool trying not to look down at the floor and says, "Sara, I have to be honest with you. There are so many people right now on your side fighting this. But, we maybe getting towards the end of what we can do." I suppose it makes it harder when you have become good friends. I just wanted to ask how his vacation went and change the subject. But, this time, there is a reality that lay heavy in the room like never before.
The cloud left with when my mom and exited the exam room. I went to the bathroom to collect myself. I decided to shake it off for the day. What else is there to do? I wasn't dead today. I am not dying tomorrow. The thing I wanted to do most was laugh. So I trot down to the nurses in the infusion room smiling. Of course, they are no idiots knowing this office visit was not a planned one. It was my regular routine to come in between infusions that occur every three weeks. One of the nurses hugs me and asks, "So what does he say?"
I explain a few details using code as to now upset other patients. They hug me and rock me a minute. I stifle the tears the best I can. After gaining my composure, I ask them if they seen the article yet. I rush around looking for the Cure Today. They are excited. I was interviewed about exercising during treatment and recovery after treatment. The interview was two months ago, about six months after full brain radiation and my third treatment for my bitch cancer. The last quote says:
A little more than six months after whole-brain radiation, Brown is back to running. “Cancer tried to take away my physical body three times, but I kicked it in the behind and kept moving,” she says.
The evening after the appointment was hard. I felt torn between crawling in a little ball and giving up, start throwing away everything I owned I didn't want people to have to deal with when I am gone, and buying a ticket for the south of France. What I really wanted to do was just make dinner. I petted my stinky kid's hair, kissed it, sniffled, choked back my tears and showed Daughter how to use dice to figure out her multiplication tables. Son busled around me while I was in the kitchen having notyet learned how to self-entertain himself. He's frustrated about something. He may explode here in a minute. Oh, he doesn't like the food I am making. Okay, then don't it it, your choice. This is my life.
Husband comes home all pimped in a suit. Four days in a new corporate job. Huge life change. My heart sinks. He knows what is going gist of the situation, not the details. I will tell him later. Actually, I will have my mom just e-mail the notes. She is good at that. Right now, this moment it is dinner time. we laugh, whine, complain about the food, laugh some more, review spelling, and share our days. Well, not all of my day other then I started a painting.
We, six doctors, my parents, my husband, my sister and her husband, my brother-in-law who is nurse to one of the doctors, everyone, are sorting it all out. Some tests need to be done this week to see if my body is clear of disease; if this is the only site of issue. Then we move forward. The area in my brain that was originally cyber-knife radiated and then whole brain radiated last year is swelling. It sits like an ice cream on top of a cone on my brain stem. So you can imagine this could cause some more issues. one option, of course, is to do nothing as it is in such a sensitive area. we can maintain it, but it will continue to do its thing. It maybe a course of a year as my body slowly stops functioning properly. I already feel a bit weak at times and loose my balance so I can imagine this would be a horrific fate.
So the hope is this is the only area of disease and the specialists will carve a whole in my brain and dig it out. Sounds. perfect, right? Just get it out whether it is malignant or just dead brain cells. Remember the area of concern is on my brain stem. I could very likely not come home. That is heavy. Even if I survived the surgery, how would I be changed? Would I ever paint again.
So yes, what do you do when you are taking all this in and waiting to know when you are going to die, you just live. Friday, the day after the appointment, I went for a short run, ran errands, picked up the house, and painted most of the afternoon as the kids were at school. I kept looking at the clock to make sure I didn't get too involved and forget the kids like usual. But, the clock had slowed down. time slowed down. Paint, yoga, clean the house, make dinner, read books, cuddle. What do you do on the day you realize you may not be here next year or even Christmas? Well, you live.
Husband comes home all pimped in a suit. Four days in a new corporate job. Huge life change. My heart sinks. He knows what is going gist of the situation, not the details. I will tell him later. Actually, I will have my mom just e-mail the notes. She is good at that. Right now, this moment it is dinner time. we laugh, whine, complain about the food, laugh some more, review spelling, and share our days. Well, not all of my day other then I started a painting.
We, six doctors, my parents, my husband, my sister and her husband, my brother-in-law who is nurse to one of the doctors, everyone, are sorting it all out. Some tests need to be done this week to see if my body is clear of disease; if this is the only site of issue. Then we move forward. The area in my brain that was originally cyber-knife radiated and then whole brain radiated last year is swelling. It sits like an ice cream on top of a cone on my brain stem. So you can imagine this could cause some more issues. one option, of course, is to do nothing as it is in such a sensitive area. we can maintain it, but it will continue to do its thing. It maybe a course of a year as my body slowly stops functioning properly. I already feel a bit weak at times and loose my balance so I can imagine this would be a horrific fate.
So the hope is this is the only area of disease and the specialists will carve a whole in my brain and dig it out. Sounds. perfect, right? Just get it out whether it is malignant or just dead brain cells. Remember the area of concern is on my brain stem. I could very likely not come home. That is heavy. Even if I survived the surgery, how would I be changed? Would I ever paint again.
So yes, what do you do when you are taking all this in and waiting to know when you are going to die, you just live. Friday, the day after the appointment, I went for a short run, ran errands, picked up the house, and painted most of the afternoon as the kids were at school. I kept looking at the clock to make sure I didn't get too involved and forget the kids like usual. But, the clock had slowed down. time slowed down. Paint, yoga, clean the house, make dinner, read books, cuddle. What do you do on the day you realize you may not be here next year or even Christmas? Well, you live.
