Heatherina

Facing mortality… the ride begins again

Up and down and all around…

Just when I’d felt like maybe it was slowing down… maybe it’s time to get off this crazy ride, I feel that gut-wrenching feeling again. The feeling you get when the bottom drops out from below you and suddenly your heart is racing and your stomach is in your throat. And I can’t believe that I used to ride roller coasters because I liked that rush.

I certainly don’t anymore.

I’d gotten myself to this point where I could actually forget some days that I’m a cancer patient. I felt normal, I could function, I wasn’t in terrible pain, and I wasn’t anxious or panicking anymore. But of course, everything comes to an end, right?

I feel like my entire sense of security is now gone. My next chemo treatment will be my eighth. The two-month marker. The plan was always a two-month chemo regiment and then more scans. The assumption is that I will need another two months of chemo and then another surgery sometime next year.

But I find myself terrified. I’m afraid of every outcome. If the chemo is working really well, I have a surgery to expect sooner rather than later. If the chemo is working the way they expect, I have at least another two months of these gross chemo blips to get through. (Every time I get a treatment, I’m out of commission for at least 4 days… throwing up and sleeping most of the time. But mainly, I’m just out of it and feeling icky). If the chemo isn’t working… well then it’s time to start something else. And if the chemo is working, but somehow the cancer has managed to spread… well, I don’t like to think of worst-case scenarios. But the point is, even though I’m feeling better, I’m not out of the woods. Truthfully, I never really was. But I could trick myself into forgetting. I stopped thinking about the fact that I have a deadly affliction. But now I remember.

I’m just not ready. I look at my life and I look at Jesse and there is so much more. But I’m so afraid. I find myself on my knees, praying. For strength, for peace, for life. I really feel like I have a purpose on this earth. Like there is more for me to do. And I believe that I wouldn’t be going through this needlessly. It is part of a bigger mission. But there is always that small niggling at the back of my brain. That tiny voice that tells me that so many people are taken at a young age. People that have just as much drive and ambition and purpose. What if I’ve gone through all of this for nothing? What if at the end of this I’m not strong enough?

The truth is, I don’t know my purpose. Only God can know. But I’m scared. More than scared. Terrified. I faced the possibility of death when I was first diagnosed and determined that it wasn’t an option. I didn’t think I’d have to face it again. And I didn’t think that I’d doubt my determination for survival. But here I am, crying again. Crying and praying and trying to keep the faith.

I don’t know what to expect. But I realize how much I love everything I have in my life right now. If I found out that I was going to die tomorrow… would I be satisfied?

No. I don’t accept it. I can’t. There is more for me. There simply has to be.

Pray for me, please. I need all the strength I can get.

The scans won’t be for another week or two… so until then all there can be is waiting and wondering and praying. I can’t believe that I’m doubting myself mid-way through the fight. Maybe it’s the drugs right now.

I’m taking a mental health break next week, which I think is desperately needed. My mind is a mess.

But I’m in the middle of one of my chemo blips, so I need to go throw up and then get back to bed.

The less I’m thinking at this point… the better.