Tuesday, October 1, 2013

The Hardest Parts

Each day that passes is a new day to be grateful for the life I've been given.  I am beyond thankful for all the people that have come together to help me with my fight against breast cancer.  Just knowing you all are there, waiting in the wings, looking for ways to help me, is so comforting.  My hope is that I can one day repay all of you the kindness that has been shown to me.

I don't know how to explain how cancer makes me feel, or how anyone can help with these feelings, but just from my short experience so far, these have been the hardest parts for me.  First, not seeing my children.  I am so thankful that the kids' father, his wife, and grandparents are taking such good care of Natalie and Eliah so that I can focus on getting better.  But for someone that spent 99% of their time on the kids, this is the most challenging aspect.  I don't know what to do without them, without responsibility for them, without their hugs and kisses.  I know I am not strong enough to handle taking them even overnight, but I miss them so much.  Their father and I are still not on the best of terms, so it's been a challenge to get time with the kids.  I haven't seen Eliah since September 20th, and Natalie since 20 minutes on Sept 25th.  It's killing me not to be near them.

This kind of segways into the second hardest part of cancer, not knowing anything, including who I am anymore.  I get emails and more emails of lots of people wanting to help, wanting to give suggestions, wanting to fix everything for me.  And that's great; I appreciate it.  Two weeks ago, I was in control of my life, I knew what was best for me and my family, I knew what I was doing.  Now, I'm treading in unfamiliar territory and everyone has the cure, the solution, the best way for me to live, the book, the diet, the movie, the drug, the program, the forms to fill out, etc.  Everyone knows more than I do right now.

It's hard enough to give up everything I already know about my life and start something scary (fighting cancer), and it's even harder to look in the mirror every day and see how I am changing into someone I don't know physically, but the hardest part is feeling stupid and lost.  And as grateful as I am for the offers of advice, the more suggestions I get, the more lost I feel. I am getting buried in a sea of things that make me feel stupid.  I'm sure at some point that I will take control back, and I will be proactive in finding what's right for me.  But right now, in this moment, it's weighing me down, and I'm grasping for the way out.

And that leads me to the last part of this experience to challenge me, letting people help and asking for help.  I don't do that. If you know me well, you know that I will break before I ask for help.  I've always been that way.  If I can't do it myself, then it can't be done.

But this fight cannot be done alone.  I need help, physically and mentally.  I need my kids to be cared for while I fight, but God I need to see them.  I need rides to everywhere because I'm so dizzy I can't drive.  I need someone to remind me to take medicine, because I'm so out of it that I can't even remember what day it is.  I need mental support, "I know this is hard, but you're doing great"...."No, that port sticking out of your chest is really sexy, not unsightly at all"...."You're not stubborn, you're just the way you're supposed to be"..."You're the best cancer patient in the world".   You get the point.

I know I have a lot to do.  I know that feeling like crap is a necessary evil.  I know that getting to the point of routine and predictability will help me regain some control.  To be honest, it still hasn't even sunk in that I have cancer.  I see what's going on around me.  I see what's happening to my body.  I am experiencing everything.  But it's all from outside a window looking in.  It hasn't made the connection to my brain yet.  All I'm feeling is the loss of my children and what I knew my life to be; and what's left is feeling lost and having to ask for help.  Agh.  Maybe when the connection is made, I'll start to grow, learn, adapt, evolve and conquer.

But I am so, so grateful for all of you that are on this journey with me.  All of you that spend even a moment of your day wishing me well.  And all of you that have stuck out your figurative hand to help pick me up.  Thank you.


  1. HUGS! Do you need me to drive up to Greenville this weekend and go get your kids and bring them to see you?

  2. You have gone from being needed every second to being the one in need. That is a huge change for anyone, but especially for you. And I imagine it is a tough pill to swallow. This is your new normal for a while, so try not to fight it. You are still the same amazing mama and person! Your body is in shock, as it should be, from the chemo. That also affects everything else - your emotions, your cognitive abilities, EVERYTHING. I can't make it better but just know that when the fog lifts, you will see a lot of people reaching out to help you with whatever you need. We are here for you and will be here for as long as it takes. There is lots happening behind the scenes of Ann Can!, Inc. You do your job of resting and let the chemo do its work. We will do our jobs making sure you have rides and medicine and someone to be there when you most need it. I know you miss those sweet faces, and they miss you too. Hope they can visit SOON! Thank you for sharing your experience with all of us. The real experience. You are ANNCREDIBLE!

  3. I came to your blog via Margaret Murphy, who is potentially the funniest person I actually know. I see why she loves you so much. God help me - I love stubborn women!! Especially stubborn funny women. I have not advice nor words of wisdom. I have prayers - for your well-being, and the well being of your children. And I have thanks. Because of you, I have a new catchphrase: If I can't do it myself, then it can't be done. <<< Love that! Good for you! Nothing wrong with a stubborn funny woman. Get well soon Ann.