My mother died on February 28th, 2018. Cancer. Like a tsunami.

Time Bombs

I hate looking at myself in the mirror; not in a stereotypical female body dissatisfaction type of way. I see my breasts as killers. Cancer-filled time bombs waiting to explode.

Rage Against the Machine

Some days, I feel as if I'm losing my impulse control. I see the entire world as a source of my anger and worthy of my retaliate. Smokers. People who do stupid shit and never get caught or suffer any consequences. The dude in his 90's who freaking drank booze every day for the last 70 years and is "healthy as a horse." Why do they deserve to come out of this world virtually unscathed. There is no fairness or rational explanation for it. And that's the source of my anger. Nothing makes sense except that everything is random. Or maybe predetermined.

I used to read a lot of books by Sylvia Browne. I still revisit the lessons I learned in them, the basic one being that we all choose our path before we return to Earth and we are here to do one of two things: learn or teach. Is my mother hear to learn something for herself by this or teach some hard lesson to the rest of us? I can't help but think maybe it's a 50/50 split.  She has always been so fixated on her appearance, her weight, her clothes. She used to talk constantly about wanting a goddamn facelift. When the doctor mentioned chemo today, she barely mentioned the thought of losing her hair again. She has changed. Her priorities have shifted. Living is the priority. Clothes were just an excuse. She wants to live to see my nephew grow up. He's not yet three. That is a priority worth putting energy into.

If then, that's her lesson, what is mine?

TBD

Lay Your hands on Me

My mother is going to a faith healer tomorrow. My husband rolled his eyes when I told him, but at this point what harm can it do?

Always weird coincidences

I bought pretzels at the grocery store today: a brand I've never bought before.

On the way out of the store, a breast cancer survivor group was selling pink carnations. I spent my last two dollars.

I haven learned I can never fully escape this shit.

"Still many options left"

After another appointment with the oncologist on Wednesday, she determined that the tumor in the right breast is getting larger, so it's not responding to treatment. She sent my mother back to the surgeon today. It looks like the options now are chemo first and/or radiation then surgery. A double mastectomy. The surgeon is also going to present my mother's case at an oncology conference on Thursday morning. Dr Han said it's like "getting twenty second opinions." She will call my mother on Thursday afternoon with the verdict from all the other experts at the session. This actually made me feel really hopeful. Maybe other doctors will have a more aggressive suggestion. Treatment decisions are going to "come quickly now." This has become urgent. This has become aggressive and strong and at least they recognize that now. So another week of more appointments, phone calls, and waiting. And helplessness. Remission is still a word mentioned with all sincerity.

"I know this person who . . . ."

It's a trap. A trap of hope and what-ifs. I've fallen into it. Every time someone asks me "How is your mom doing?" it's followed by "I know someone who. . . ." had this kind of cancer and lived 15 years.

My mother told me she didn't want to hear any of those stories, but she called me on Sunday to repeat one about the guy who was given 6 months and lived 15 years after he went to MD Anderson.  This inspired her to make the decision to try to get in there. I encouraged her. At this point, what can it hurt? The oncologist only said "I don't know. It won't be weeks or months. It's very slow-growing." So it could be years or a decade or more. Hell, no one knows for sure regardless. It's all in the mind and how you approach it.

 For now, the stories don't have an impact on me. I don't discourage them. People want to help. It gives them a way of expressing empathy. Right now, I appreciate it. But it might be weeks or months when I won't.