Phrases like ‘white cell count’ didn’t mean much to me until recently. That’s the thing with cancer, you watch other people go through it, but it’s like seeing lightning off in the distance; The danger is there but your life continues.
Your life continues until the lightning strikes too close to home.
My home is on fire from that lightning strike and I cannot escape this nightmare. My mind often drifts to the flames and I know that I can’t save anything. The helpless feeling is inescapable, my depression is palpable, and I still must get up every single day and forge forward, no matter how much I want to stay in bed and sleep.
And I want to sleep. I want to sleep all the time. Constantly, never ceasing, my urge to sleep and shut everything out is the only way I’ve figured out how to cope with what’s going on with my Mom. And really, it’s not coping at all. It’s probably the opposite of coping.
Everything is exhausting. Faking smiles, talking about having ‘good’ days, discussing treatment plans with people I don’t know, on top of 40 hours a week of customer service at my job. I’m not eating healthy, I’m barely working out, because when all is said and done, all I can do is sleep. I can’t imagine what a shit wife/friend/sister/human I am right now.
My Mom is my entire life and I mean that. I know people say it, but I mean it. When I was three years old and my Dad left, I stuck to her like glue. I couldn’t spend one night away from her, not because I missed her, but because my heart couldn’t stand that idea of her sleeping alone. I slept with her until I was 11 years old. She has always been my person, my biggest fan, and the least critical of me and all my insanity and neuroses. She loves me, dude. And I love her just the same.
You can’t imagine it will ever be your parent until it’s your parent. You imagine a life where your parent lives to be in their 80’s, lives long enough to hold their great grandchildren, and never fathom a day when they might not be there anymore. I hope if my Mom reads this blog, she knows that I don’t believe she is dying, but watching her suffer is hard as heck and this is my only outlet. Writing is all I know.
I can’t fix her. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make this better or take it from her, and that kills me. I don’t know that anyone deserves cancer, but I can certainly tell you that she doesn’t. I’ve never quite worked through my anger about what she’s going through, and I’ll question the life out of “God’s Plan” so miss me with that.
Just, honestly? Everything just sucks so badly.