Staging Your Fear

I'll admit it finally. I'm scared. I've been living in fear for the past couple of weeks. I've been strong and "fearless" up until this point, giving everyone the right answer when they ask. "I've got this!" "I'm keeping up the fight.!" "Screw cancer!" And for the most part I have believed it. But somewhere in the space of the past few weeks, the magician has slowly tugged the covering off of me, and the scared little girl sits in the place of the strong, brazen woman.
I hit the ground running when I was diagnosed. I took about 45 minutes to grieve the loss of life as I knew it. I kicked and screamed, ranted and raved....sobbed. But I shut it off and resolved myself to fight the good fight. I would be the face of courage, the backbone for everyone going through this. I would be what I had to be to win.
That worked for the past few months. I have bracelets with my motto on them, I've been heartened by the response to them. People all over have reached out and offered prayers, support, love and understanding. I was introduced to people who just wanted to help when they heard my story. My blog has been met with tremendous support. It's been overwhelming. But somewhere along the way, I felt I became the poster child for cancer. That's a lot of weight on one person's shoulders. Be what everyone wants you to be, be strong and fearless. I have found myself in moments of gut-wrenching despair. Moments where I can't face another person asking me what they can do to help, ever reminding me that I have cancer, I'm not well. Of course, everyone is well-meaning and I am overly appreciative. But I have to ask, why do some people find out you have cancer and feel compelled to tell you about everyone they ever knew who died of cancer? I know people need to relate, but come on! It's devastating to me everytime someone starts talking to me about others with cancer.
You see, I have been struggling with the whole idea that I am stage IV and that my cancer has metastasized. Whenever people start talking to me about others with cancer, I feel they inevitably say "and then it mets to their liver...." It's hard to stay focused and not drown in despair when people are reminding you of others in your exact spot who have lost their battle. When I hear that, it is like a notch is taken out of my armor. But I continue on and force the smile. I will get through this I tell myself. I will not be like the others.
And then there is the fact that my humor is starting to lag off. My sarcasm is born at the price of others and sitting around a house all day, snowed in with a 6 month old and a retired fireman does not lend itself to much material. I'm turning into a pj wearing house frau. It's bad enough that I look in the mirror and don't recognize the bald blob facing me, but to take my humor? That's just cruel.
I have been asked to join support groups, to meet with others going through what I am going through, but I just can't do it. I feel like I am the odd man out. I'm young, a new mother, with end-stage cancer. Yes, I technically have "breast cancer" but I don't identify with the whole "Think Pink" campaign. I understand that the whole "Save the Boobies" mentality works for some and a raging attitude toward cancer and all it encompasses drives others....but it's just not me. Don't get me wrong, cancer SUCKS! But I can't sit here and rage against it, I feel that is wasted energy. I was then offered a support group that was for late stage and metastasized cancers. I thought about this for awhile. Would I feel more at home there with people who were facing a similar battle? Ultimately I decided that I wasn't. At least I am not ready for it. It is too devastating to me to hear other people's stories. And I then feel guilty when I get somewhat "good" news (if there is such a thing in the world of cancer) and they are getting nothing but bad. It's just too much for me to handle and it causes me to focus on the negative.
So back to my stage IV dilemma. I just can't seem to shake those words. "Stage IV." I feel like they are my cross to bear. Some try to lift my spirits by saying that staging is just logistical and for the doctors only. But I'm not dumb, and I don't live in the clouds. What I have is very real and very serious. My cancer is aggressive. My life is in jeopardy. There, I said it. I said it out loud that I am scared to die. Scared to leave my baby boy and not guide him through his life and dry his tears, hold him when he's hurt, or be there to cheer him on in his moments of glory. No amount of support group gatherings, pink garb, or snarky cancer comebacks can prepare your mind for those thoughts. For the very reality that you might not be here this time next year. Every ache, pain, change in appetite has you questioning if something more is wrong. Your life becomes a series of breath holds awaiting the next scan, the latest blood work. At those appointments, when you are surrounded by your loved ones who are there to support you, you can't help but feel like you need to shield them and take down the fear before the news hits them in the face. You will be the backbone. You will hold them up. You will not crumble. My first PET scan I found myself in that little doctor room with my head face down on the table taking deep breaths to fight off the anxiety. I actually told my mom and my husband to leave me be, while I trained my mind on the worst case scenario and worked out in my mind how I would pick them up when it hit. Fortunately, my doctor delivered great news that day, but the possibility of bad news lingers behind every corner.
I guess I am writing this blog to express to you all that I am human. I'm not this inspirational hero who is facing death in the face and taking no prisoners. I'm actually scared, crying, and depressed a lot of the time. I want to have a day where I am not too tired of just the thought of dancing around the living room with my son. I want to be an actual wife to my husband, and not have this be a one-sided relationship where he is doing the holding up and the caregiving. I want time to just sit and be and not think about how I should be writing things down for Sam, "just in case." That's where my head is at, and I hate it.
I started back at my therapist (seeing as how the doctor's office kept telling me I needed to see a social worker because of all I had been dealt!). I'm not going to lie, I found myself telling my story and at one point I was just letting out this small, long squeak of a sob. I couldn't help myself. I sat there, completely unveiled as the scared little girl. And you know what, I was relieved to show my true feelings. God damn it, I feel cheated! Why? Why? WHY? And how do I go on?
I tell you how I go on. I go to bed each night and say my prayers. I think about all the blessings I have been bestowed. I kiss my sweet baby goodnight. I look at my husband and thank God he brought him to me. I listen to my parents snoring and I thank God that I was born to them. I think of the friends I have made along the way, the incredible laughs I have shared. And I think of what I have been to people, have I touched their lives? Have I made a difference? Yes, I have. I know that I have been the strength in most of my relationships. I have fought for people, loved people despite their faults, taken in strays, made life easier for others when they have faced tough times. I've been a leader, a confidante, a voice of reason. I thank God for what I have done so far and pray that I am given more time to continue to be me. And it is in those moments, in the quiet of the night as I am talking to God, that I make peace with myself and this journey I am on. Yes, I cry. Yes, I'm scared. But I am not ashamed of who I am or full of regret. I'm living a life that's good and is beyond compare. And that's when I decide that....I've got this.