deafbajagal
New Member
- Joined
- Nov 6, 2007
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Third time is supposed to be the charm. The last battle was probably the most scared, lonely, and angry I've ever been. I had symptoms, and it took nearly a year before my proper diagnosis. Ironically, it wasn't a specialist who discovered it...it was actually someone at Planned Parenthood who took the time to really listen...and she guided me to the diagnosis by personally seeing I got proper care. If I had waited just a few weeks, it would have been too late.
I just moved to a new city for a new job. We had yet to find a place to live. While my husband stayed with my girls in another city, I spent my days working, going to treatments, and trying to get established by finding a place to live, get utilities started, etc. If you have not had radiation treatments, you cannot possibly fathom the pain from it. To make it worse, the treatment triggered my PTSD to the point I would not be able to distinguish the treatment and what happened. I went to work, while fighting nausea, puking blood, having pain in every part of my body, and enduring exhaustion. Then I would drive myself to the treatment...afterwards I would sleep in my car, often after crying from pain and sheer fear. For the first few nights, I slept in my car until a friend let me stay in her house...but in exchange, I had to babysit her kids. I was not in the condition to do it, but I didn't have a choice. After three weeks, I finally got an apartment, got my kids enrolled in school, got utilities going, etc. I seriously wonder how I avoided suicide...it was really just too much.
For the next several months, I continued to drive myself to and from the doctors. I joined a support group and made good friends. Nevertheless, the people who should have been involved in my life simply vanished. Honestly, hardly anyone called, texted, sent messages, etc. Day in and out, I pushed myself to make sure my girls had dinner, did their homework, etc. I learned to have my own little life. I learned to let the housework go. To take shortcuts to make it work.
A few days ago, my 6th month cancer-free mark came quietly...no one noticed or mentioned it. Not surprising. And I lost two friends from the circle of the cancer support group.
When I first told someone I might have cancer, the words were who would take care of the girls? That alone shook every will I had to die...and pressed me to survive. It showed me that I was involved with someone who simply saw my kids as baggage, not a responsibility. And that burden became my own.
I gave everything I had...even my soul, to survive. Here I am, alone at night. My ear has been bleeding...this is by far the worst ear infection I've had...yet, like always, I got up, took care of kids, made dinner, got their backpacks ready, got them ready for bed...all while in pain and with tears. So...I made a decision. I won't fight cancer again if it returns...and it might. The two friends who died from the same kind I had were in full remission.
I will begin looking into adoption services for my girls to make sure they are not separated and they will have the best life possible. Family, no. If they didn't care enough to check on them while I was going through the treatments, then they erased their ties.
I simply cannot do it anymore. Maybe I'm too bitter. Selfish. But I do know...I have nothing left.
I just moved to a new city for a new job. We had yet to find a place to live. While my husband stayed with my girls in another city, I spent my days working, going to treatments, and trying to get established by finding a place to live, get utilities started, etc. If you have not had radiation treatments, you cannot possibly fathom the pain from it. To make it worse, the treatment triggered my PTSD to the point I would not be able to distinguish the treatment and what happened. I went to work, while fighting nausea, puking blood, having pain in every part of my body, and enduring exhaustion. Then I would drive myself to the treatment...afterwards I would sleep in my car, often after crying from pain and sheer fear. For the first few nights, I slept in my car until a friend let me stay in her house...but in exchange, I had to babysit her kids. I was not in the condition to do it, but I didn't have a choice. After three weeks, I finally got an apartment, got my kids enrolled in school, got utilities going, etc. I seriously wonder how I avoided suicide...it was really just too much.
For the next several months, I continued to drive myself to and from the doctors. I joined a support group and made good friends. Nevertheless, the people who should have been involved in my life simply vanished. Honestly, hardly anyone called, texted, sent messages, etc. Day in and out, I pushed myself to make sure my girls had dinner, did their homework, etc. I learned to have my own little life. I learned to let the housework go. To take shortcuts to make it work.
A few days ago, my 6th month cancer-free mark came quietly...no one noticed or mentioned it. Not surprising. And I lost two friends from the circle of the cancer support group.
When I first told someone I might have cancer, the words were who would take care of the girls? That alone shook every will I had to die...and pressed me to survive. It showed me that I was involved with someone who simply saw my kids as baggage, not a responsibility. And that burden became my own.
I gave everything I had...even my soul, to survive. Here I am, alone at night. My ear has been bleeding...this is by far the worst ear infection I've had...yet, like always, I got up, took care of kids, made dinner, got their backpacks ready, got them ready for bed...all while in pain and with tears. So...I made a decision. I won't fight cancer again if it returns...and it might. The two friends who died from the same kind I had were in full remission.
I will begin looking into adoption services for my girls to make sure they are not separated and they will have the best life possible. Family, no. If they didn't care enough to check on them while I was going through the treatments, then they erased their ties.
I simply cannot do it anymore. Maybe I'm too bitter. Selfish. But I do know...I have nothing left.