Monday, October 8th, 8:00 AM, I will start my fight. A fight I only know the rules I read or hear about. A fight only two people can determine the outcome, God and me. A fight that will forever change my life, your life and all the others who surround me. Do you ever ask how you became a part in all this? How this will affect your life? I often wonder this about myself and my family. How a thirty-seven year old mother of three can have cancer. Not breast cancer or a more common cancer, but Sarcoma. A cancer so rare, even the doctors can’t give you real answers. It’s a feeling that makes you love more, care more and simply be happier for the moment you are living.
Today, I struggle with the “happier” part in all this. I have excruciating pain in my thigh, a pain that worsens as the hours pass. Each step I walk, my tumor makes me acknowledge the presence of cancer. Like lightning rods beaming down my leg, never ending. But I can’t stop. I can’t rest, I fear giving in to cancer. I fear the fight ending before I start. So I keep walking, run when I need, I just breathe through the pain, hoping no one notices. By the evening, my body so tired, my stomach so nauseous, sometimes vomiting in hopes I’ll feel better. Nothing changing. All a part of my day, now realizing it’s been a part of my life for months. I often ask, why the excuses? It is what it is. I have no answer.
Living out my frustrations each step of the way. Losing my patience, trying my best. But my best seems to be my worst on a much better day. I desperately want to forget all I need to do to prepare for this journey and spend time with my girls. I want to cherish every moment with them and make it matter. But my pain and ailments slow me down, not allowing time for this. You might say, let it go. Let it be. Unfortunately, the time has come and I have a list. Pack our bags, plan our stay, route our destination and hit the road. Time is lost, memories were made.
On Monday, October 8th 9:00 AM the doctors will put a port in my chest to inject the drugs. This port will stay in my chest the entire 12 weeks. Something to remind me of chemotherapy and the nasty side effects. However, it will also remind me to fight on the days I feel good. At 9:45 I will sit in a recliner, surrounded by curtains as the drugs enter my body. This will be my day for 8-10 hours. This will be my day for three consecutive days. A chair beside me, for a guest to watch.
I ask myself, who could watch. Who could watch their loved one’s body absorb these drugs? Why a chair? Drugs that change your bone structure, break down your organs and make you sick. With some luck, these drugs will help me fight the evil cells that may be waiting, wanting to attack.
As I pack our belongings and prepare for our trip, I am bothered with the thought of never returning. Never having the chance to say bye, never really understanding “good bye.” But I am grateful for this experience for one reason today. I have been given the opportunity to face the idea of death. How many people can say they made a list of wants and requests should they die? For me, I have written them. How many people are given the opportunity to hear the kind words and opinions of others while they are alive? This is often spoken at their funeral. For me, I have heard or read them. How many people can see through the obstacles to find the light? For me, I have found the light, now I need to find the path.
I often hear people say "we will pray" and then I hear Mike ask, "please pray hard." I ask you today to please pray real hard for my girls, my family, my friends and if there's time, me! Smile!
