Christmas Eve! A
sweet peaceful day. It should have
been. I woke up this morning, took
Bodhi for a walk, came home with the intention of having a cup of coffee and
reading the newspaper, while waiting for Ric to wake up. Instead, I felt empty and crawled back in
bed to get warm. Drifted back to
sleep while thoughts of missing my family danced in my head. When I woke, I couldn’t make myself get
up. My cat, Dot, was lying beside me,
and I knew if I could see her face better, I would smile. It’s hard to turn over with a painful arm
and a drain coming out of it, and by the time I adjusted myself so I could see
her, she had moved... and her butt was in my face! Tried to get her to turn around, but she was adamant about making
me laugh... only it didn’t work. I just felt sad and depressed, wondering what
would I do when I did get up. Go look
at the trio of Christmas trees in front of the fireplace, with no lights,
because I couldn’t find the long extension cord? Stare at the blank space under the trees because I did not shop
this year? I looked at my bare feet and
began to remember things that would happen to my body during chemo... my
toenails and fingernails would get ugly ridges in them, my skin would be dry,
the steroids would make me look like the Pillsbury Doughboy, my hair would fall
out to the point I would have to have my head shaved to keep the piles of hair
showing up all over the place, I would lose my eyebrows and eyelashes, adding
to the Pillsbury Doughboy look. And
then the hardest thoughts to think came crashing in. Last year, I went to my mom’s house for Christmas. I didn’t go the year before, so this was the
first Christmas being in the house without my dad. Little did I know at the time that it would be the last year that
Mom was in the house at Christmas. This
year her Christmas will be spent in a nursing home and she will have no idea
it’s Christmas. I realized that never
again would I experience a family Christmas in the home in which I grew up. My son and family moved to Indiana this year,
and will have little time to visit upon their return to West Virginia for the
holidays. My daughter and family are
living in Mexico. It’s hard to get
everyone together when you deal with multiple blended families... but I recall
two very special Christmases when we did.
One year we rented a cabin at Stonewall Resort. Everyone was there on a snowy
Christmas Day, fire in the fireplace and deer visiting outside. A Christmas card Christmas! And a few years ago, we were all together in
our home... it was a noisy, happy,
glorious time. Everyone was astonished
at the perfect Christmas dinner I had prepared, and I especially recall the
drum circle that spontaneously formed in one corner of the house... singing and
laughing and drumming... oh what a joy filled day. Today... too quiet for me to bear. Ric said something to me that I perceived as an angry tone, and I
could no longer hold myself together. I
cried and sobbed and wailed. I wrote an
email to my daughter telling her how much I missed her, knowing she was
struggling with the same feelings. I
couldn’t decide whether or not to actually send it. She was glad I did. It
helped us both to acknowledge our sadness and move on. My day did get better. I showered and was going to straighten my
hair, because I knew that would make me feel good. Silly me. However, I
couldn’t straighten my right arm enough yet to straighten my hair. Surprisingly, I did not cry over this. Although Ric and I have a lot of food in the
house, thanks to loving friends, we decided to go to our favorite restaurant,
Little India, for a late lunch for Christmas Eve. Harish and Meena welcomed us like family. Family.
It felt good to be in their restaurant and they fed us good food and
warmed our hearts as always.
I’m better now. I
remain steadfast in the knowledge that what is happening to me is not a
tragedy. My boss, Mike, lost his father
yesterday. Sadness is compounded during
the holidays, and I can’t imagine how hard this is for him. There is little Lydia, who will not get
riding toys for Christmas this year, or next, or maybe ever. There is a young man, with little children,
who lost his young wife in a car accident recently. And countless other tragedies other people are dealing with. Even my own husband. His illness (Primary Progressive MS) is so
much worse than my condition. There’s
not much hope he’ll regain the loss of muscle in his legs and arm. I get thru my condition with the comfort of
the word “temporary.” Ric does not have
that choice. There’re a lot of
treatments available for the most common form of MS, Relapsing Remitting... but
not much for PPMS. Everything that’s
been tried so far has not worked for Ric, but we continue to hope that the next
treatment will. Guess what it is? Chemotherapy! We laugh though, as we try to decide whether to have our chemo
together or if we should stagger the treatments! I smile as I remember a night when we were still dating... we
were huddled under an umbrella together, running through the rain, with a
bottle of wine and cheese & crackers, laughing and giggling, to his cozy
place on the East End. We weren’t
thinking about staggering our chemo treatments 10 years later! LOL!
We have been so loved and cared for and prayed for these
last few weeks. Part of me knows I have
no right to be depressed. And the other
part of me knows this little Pity Party is necessary in order to move on to the
next step. Two surgeries in a week’s
time? I willingly went back to work
quickly, but I was drained at the end of each day. Some nights I slept well, some nights I did not. A tired body leads to a tired mind. And for me, it was easy for depression to
set in. Especially being the Christmas
season. I gotta put this down on the
blog, because I’m surely not the only woman dealing with breast cancer who gets
freakin’ sad! My high-school friend,
Diane, commented on my Facebook post the other day, “I
don't know how you do it, Jeanne. Keeping up your spirit and sense of humor.
You... going through what you do and you still manage to make me smile. I don't
have much time to read everything on FB but I try to read your blog. It makes
me laugh, and keeps me humble and thankful at the same time. You are so
precious. God Bless You!!” My response
was, “From the first thought that I might have cancer again thru the
last treatment for it, will probably be about a year's time. Do I want to spend the next year of my life
miserable? NO! So the only choice is to live my life as
fully as I can, pretty much the same way I always
do. I choose HAPPINESS. I choose LIFE!!! And make no mistake, all the prayers and loving support from people
like you, Diane, help me to do just that. I love you!”
So today, I’m sticking to it. I have boxes of kleenex in every room now, just in case the
“stickiness” wears off in places, and also so I will never know if I actually
go thru a whole box of tissues in one day.
I may have some steps backward now and then, but I will always take
bigger and more steps forward.
Just went to find Dot. She looked at me as if to say, "Are we okay now?" Yes, Dot, we're dancing again."
After work, I ran a few errands, did a few chores, and then cried. And cried. And cried. This is not the state of mind I want to be in! I have no idea why I'm so depressed. The two surgeries have removed all the cancer. The chemo and radiation ahead is just "clean up" work. I'm not afraid of the treatments. The stitches and drain out today. Plus, so many folks have stepped up in a multitude of ways to help us, from raking leaves to sending helpful gifts and there has been a constant stream of people at our door delivering food. Ric and I have been well taken care of and well fed... and loved and prayed for. Yet, I cry. I'm tired. So very tired. And worry creeps in... if I'm so tired now, how am I going to deal with chemo? Ric tried to help me. I know he was confused, unsure what to do. I told him that just because I was crying didn't mean he had to DO something. He walked away and let me cry... probably so difficult for him... but the best thing he could do for me at the time. I NEED my crying time... it will NOT last... I will MOVE thru the emotional difficulties... but I need my crying time... and a truck load of tissues.
