Nothing could have prepared me for this. Literally two weeks ago, life was fairly normal. Now? I’ve spent the last three days with my husband at chemo. It’s been 6 days since we found out. Six days since I’ve known. Six days since our entire lives have changed.
Coming to the Cancer Center is less than pleasant for me. The anxiety and flashbacks from my own chemo hits me every single time I come in. Today I started bawling when we got into Brad’s infusion room.
I was very adamant that I would never be back here when I had my last dose of chemo. With my survival rate, I’ve said that I will NOT take chemo ever again. I just want to live. Now, I don’t really have a choice.
Our story is just so tragic. I’m scared and lost, I feel lonely and exhausted. I’m sad for the person I was during chemo for my kids and husband. I’m sad for our parents who are mourning so much. But there is nothing compared to the grief I feel for my children. There are no words. Not a single one.
There are no words to describe the guilt. How can I even be talking about me?!
There aren’t any deep breaths that take away the pain. This grip on my heart is just fucking awful.
I’d way rather be the patient than the caregiver.
Today I had an outstanding result on my echocardiogram. I’m thankful my healthcare provider understands the swiftness needed of my own positive results.
Brad is resting in a quiet house while Grandma and Grandpa have the kids at hockey. I haven’t had a quiet house for awhile. Today marks his third day of chemotherapy in a row. Tomorrow another MRI and Friday is his port placement. We will be port scar twins. Fucking great, right?
Brad isn’t up out of bed much, and tries to nap away the pain when he can.
Looking forward to the end of the weekend when he might be feeling better.