So probably not the most normal 4 words for a post title, but I’m not sure any other 4 words have been more important to me this week, this month, or hell – this year. Nor has any other statement made me happier :)
I know I’ve mentioned the big ‘C’ with my Mom but I’m not really sure people who haven’t gone through it, can relate fully. Sympathize? Completely, without a doubt, but relate to the day to day struggle these people face – I’m not sure even I come close. As much as I’ve tried to go home, call my parents all the time, attempt to use my lame humour to cheer them up, even I can’t fully understand the depths of what these people face when undergoing their treatments.
From what I was able to witness, my mom went in with guns blazing but it soon changed…
From I can beat this! I’m a survivor!
To holy crap I feel like crap. My mouth is full of ulcers and it’s hard to swallow.
To losing her spit glands and her mouth turning into a pit of sand on top of the ulcers and then developing thrush down her throat, which as far as I’m able to relate, it feels like constant strep throat. Awful.
To being force fed nutrition drinks because food isn’t something that can be swallowed, digested, or kept in her stomach.
To throwing up those nutrition drinks and literally crumbling with fear over drinking one more god-awful ounce.
To I’m not sure I can do this.
To I want to crawl into a hole and die.
To the depression of this illness never seeming to end.
To anger over absolutely everything because you just want to be able to eat a fucking sandwich.
I’m not going to lie, I dealt with it worse then I thought I would. I’m sure you’ll notice my absence of blogs lately, but I just didn’t know what to write about. I tried throughout the process to be the jester, to make jokes, to keep spirits up, give pep talks about food, but that can seem so pointless after awhile. I saw my mom change drastically in body, mind and spirit and that was something I didn’t fully expect. I mean I expected it, but expectation and reality are two very different things.
I’ve pretty much immersed myself in reading as my escape, plowing through almost a book a day, spending so much on Kobo, I thought Troy might be staging an intervention. Finishing a book at 10pm and then immediately buying another so fast I sometimes didn’t realize what I bought – case in point, the series I already read and that one written in french (which Kobo actually reimbursed me – yay for them!). I haven’t written much in this blog or worked on my books. The most I could muster was frivolous tweeting, which turned out to be a lot, so I apologize for my bombardments.
Perish the thought I spend time in my own head, sorting out my feelings, or my insecurities, but here I am, writing once again at 5:30AM and it feels pretty damn fantastic. The reason behind all of this was the 4 words from above, a text I got from my sister who was visiting mom this week and she exclaimed: Mom ate a Fajita! My mom, who hasn’t had much beyond a few tablespoons of soup since January, ate a freaking fajita – this is a BIG DEAL. I wasn’t sure she was ever going to eat again, her spirit was that broken, her body turning into an evil monster, something she couldn’t control. But she ate a FUCKING FAJITA! So those who know my mom, next time you talk to her, congratulate her on her fantastic Fajita eating success. If we can’t become elated over the small things, then what’s the point right?