This I learned today — no matter how prepared you think you are, you really aren’t prepared for a cancer diagnosis. The tears will come — totally unbidden. And then, they will return.
I keep taking deep slow breaths, and try to catch up with my girls as they make plans. Who will come with me when I have a PET scan? How will they coordinate providing support when I start chemo?
But, I am not there yet. I am still taking deep slow breaths, battling tears, and speaking little truths as they come to me.
Take care of the girls. When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, my brothers and I were lost. Dad was with Mom. Gramma, Mom’s mother, came to stay with us for a week or so, but did more harm than good and was soon banished, leaving me and my brothers to fend for ourselves. Then, Mom died and Dad withdrew from the family altogether, except to live in the same house, and shove us out one-by-one as we graduated from high school.
That wound significantly shaped me. I looked for love in all the wrong places until the second of two abusive husbands not only left bruises on my body, but also abandoned me with two small children and no money. I knew I needed to change or I would destroy my daughters’ lives, so I worked with a gifted therapist until I could make better decisions.
After working so hard to make sure my girls would be OK, it would break my heart if this battle sapped so many resources from the family — emotional or financial — that my granddaughters’ needs were not met. I need them to be OK. I am an old lady, months away from Medicare. They are young and vibrant with dreams and energy. I couldn’t bear to have them hobbled in any way.
Sometimes, I am going to cry; please, let me. Tears don’t mean I have lost hope. Rather, right now I have a lot in common with a toddler. Emotions are close to the surface, and I can’t even articulate how I feel sometimes.
- Habitual tasks are now incredibly difficult. I have to plan how to put on socks because, since surgery, I can’t reach my feet.
- The entire routine of my life has been disrupted. I no longer get up, pray, go to work and help build the community in which I live. I no longer do dishes at lunchtime and laundry in the evening; I can’t even do my own laundry. I need wound care and shots and medication; I sit in doctors’ offices and have tests that were nothing more than names to me until recently.
- I tire easily, and when I tire, I can’t think straight. I can’t even answer simple questions like, ‘What would you like to eat?’ When the ‘tired’ switch goes on, I want one thing & one thing only — a nap — and then I may sleep for hours.
- My life is spinning out of control at an overwhelming rate. A 45-minute procedure turned into four-hour surgery, during which I apparently lost a lot of blood. I’ve gone from Stage I cancer needing no further treatment to Stage III requiring chemo, radiation, and immunotherapy. It’s a lot to deal with, so please understand I will cry.
Help me get life back to normal in little ways. I need to write to make sense out of this. I need to get my home in order so I can get some work done when I am too tired to go into the office. I need to go to the ranch because sitting in the tractor beside Breck makes me happy.
I know I am not going to make it easy. I’m an intensely private person and I have great respect for the crazy-busy lives that we all live. I will find it very hard to ask for help and harder to accept help. Accepting help from my children has already been difficult, and I raised them. But I know I won’t get through this alone, so please be patient as I come to terms with being one of those in need that God calls us all to help.
Create A New Heart 