I desire to write about the beautiful things surrounding the birth of my son of October 24, 2016, because naturally, I am very positive and optimistic, and always reflecting on the past good things which have come. On rare occasion, I have complained in my writings, and that would give a false premise and understanding to life if i didn't. I do not regret keeping most hard times from public view, it is only right--as they come from many conditions and apply to many characters which I would never defame. But today, I will tell you a little about the hard and ugly experiences of me.
If you have followed me you know my blog has help for many years, with a short disruption this year in particular. The honest explanation for it comes form 5 years of decline and an ultimate reality that was revealed to me on October 25th, 2016.
I had just given birth to my son, traumatically, on October 24th, 2016 at 9:59 am after having been in labor with him since Sunday, October 23 at 2:30 am. I hadn't slept well at all through the week prior, as I had just laid down to google the next pair of "fashionable" glasses I would purchase from Zenni. Ridiculous right? I'm 38 weeks along with my 6th child, I assumed to wake the next morning at 8am to throw on a dress and try to drag my tired self to church for the families sake, but instead a kicking baby, a long hard pregnancy, trips to the bathroom that night to throw up AGAIN, and anxiety about delivering weighed heavily on my mind. I was merely distracting. How odd that I was distracting myself on a site that allows one to see better, as I was at that time blind to what I was and had been carrying for a very very long time.
I have cancer.
I have had cancer for many long years according to the doctors, and now I know, according to the biopsies in my lab file. As of now, I have been doing chemotherapy for 8 months. To say I am tired would be a lie. I am barely hanging on for life. How can someone who is supposed to be fighting be barely hanging on for life? Shouldn't this chemotherapy be helping me? Yes, it should. Instead, it is poisoning me, literally, to the point of near death, and then as soon as I feel like life is coming to sweep me away into some form of aggressive healing, I am poisoned again.
I watched a movie lately where a woman was being secretly poisoned by a neighbor. My mouth dropped open in disbelief as the woman's beautiful youthful appearance took on a deathlike, sleep deprived, and ill countenance. Her soft warm skin tones and beautiful vibrant smile turned pale with dark black circles under her eyes, blue sickly lips, and distress in every glance. Her luscious chocolate shoulder length hair began to fall out in clumps, and she wore pajamas all the time--too weak to dress for public approval. Everyone assumed a little rest would help, as she just faced a major life event, moving, but she was severely ill and dying every second that the poison was in her. The movie ended and I thought, "How horribly sad and frightening."
Then it hit me, as though my heart was a brick stuck in my stomach. I was that very reflection that began 8 long months ago.
It doesn't seem fair that a woman, whom had just delivered a baby, would be required to leave her hospital room the very next day to take a drive to the cancer center 5 minutes from the labor and delivery ward, to have her first "oncology" appointment. I could hardly walk after pushing a tiny babe from my body, famished, still without an ounce of sleep since Friday October 20, 2016. But, the process of healing after delivering my baby was out of the question.....my cancer came too aggressively and needed to be treated as soon as possible. Details of the cancer type and plan will be revealed as I go through this healing journey to tell you of my deepest sorrows coupled with my joys.
Do you realize in that in Asia, post partum mothers are confined, or allowed to heal, for 40 days. 40 days of rest and bonding with her new infant child while the mother's needs are accounted for so that she may become whole again.
In India, the culture focuses on MaharishiVedic Medicine, MVM, where a mother is placed on a rest, massage, and nourishment program that facilitates the movement from complete chaos at delivery, to healing for the mother while the assisted care of the baby is turned to families, yet bonding with the baby is still a part of the mother's care.
Why, in western society do we tell mothers to resume normal activity at home once you are there--without limitations to household responsibilities--laundry, dishes. tidiness in the home, meals for the family, and if you haven't prepped freezer meals then you may be out of luck. Honestly, I hate freezer meals, Life simply continues on--especially for the middle class America who rely on every penny to survive. Mom, instead of caring for herself, hears the baby cry every night, feeds him or her, tries to rest some more but is wakened 2 hours from the start of the last feed to do it all again, if she is lucky enough at that. As soon as morning comes, laundry dishes and school schedules return for the children. Mommy barely puts on last nights pajamas, skips the bathroom to even pee, and then ends up at the cradle, because baby comes first.
What happens to Mommy when Mommy comes last--because let's be honest--every shower I take as a mother has been 90% of the time, at night. I can't even brush my teeth or get a glass of water before the baby needs to eat. Therefore, I am left famished, tired, and a bit resentful after about the third child in his exact same routine. I can't fully blame anyone, but the US demands the standard of living we have embraced--GO, GO, GO, and try to be perfect as you do.
8 months and 14 days ago I was required to do even more than the American woman is required to do for her post partum recovery. I was placed on a schedule on October 26th that began a great unravelling of me--and no, there was no time to start a recovery from the pregnancy which has been hard enough, nor the delivery, which has left me with PTSD.
I will begin to recall the ugly and good things that have happened since in the coming months.
Today, I show you to true face of me suffering with cancer and treatment 8 and 1/2 months after delivering my baby. I still have not healed from delivering him.
This week was ugly. I have slept 14 hours since Monday. Some of those nights I tried to sleep but was running to the porcelain throne every few hours to lose the contents of a tummy that had only eaten bits and pieces of food this week. Sleep was replaced by tears and vomit, and endless prayers. As I moved into Wednesday, I knew I needed a nap, and it came for 2 hours...waking to a crying baby who was well aware that I was not hearing his screaming, as he was abnormally hyperventilating. I slept through his waking voice out of mere exhaustion.
Today, after a week of not sleeping, crying in my bed while everyone else slumbered, faking a smile as I cared for Gavin, doing the bare basic things to survive, like wear my pajamas all day (as I have every day of this journey) , and feed and play with the baby. It was humbling to fold a few pieces of laundry, feel short of breath and panicked, place my head into my hands and sob because of how far I feel I've fallen from the health I have only dreamt of years ago, and then to look up and see my baby put the largest smile on my face through tears as I saw that he thought that my tears were hilarious! He watched them drip onto my sweatshirt, and then his eyes began to swell with tears as he hysterically laughed at our condition--all because when I looked at him, I chose to smile instead of frown through the weeping. How much of an impact that made....for both of us. I could feel happy endorphins start to flood my brain, all because of the shape of my lips--incredible.
This week I screamed, "Please just try to understand me" as I sobbed, I begged for mercy from My Father, I stoped eating most everything because I was too tired and breathless to make anything to eat--thank God I was given a hot chicken and salad from my friend Melanie, unexpectedly, because a handful of that meat placed in my mouth each day, almost ravenously, was enough for warmth to replace the shivering that began to become a side effect of ill self care.
In the end, I laughed with my sweet sisters and Nonna, as reaching out to them in conversation was the only thing I could consider to do to relieve the pain--physical, mental, and spiritual. Never stop reaching out is my piece of advice to all people suffering the depths of affliction that feels like hells mighty mouth opened against you. Especially, never stop reaching out to our Father in Heaven who knows all of our needs, day by day, and who even numbers our days as we live out our mortal lives here.
I may feel like this is the end, but I must remind myself that at the end of my taxol and abraxane chemotherapy, I wept in physical pain that wouldn't be relieved by pharmacological means. My bones felt as though they had been crushed all the way up my legs and into my hips. I never imagined a life without the pain again. My husband wisely told me, as I laid weeping, 'it will simply take time....give it time". I was angry when he said that, and now I know better. It did take time for most of those pains to pass, while only some remain, and I can handle that. Here, at the end of Adrimyacin and Cytoxan, known as the red devil, I am feeling my heart is failing me--as little things, such as walking with my very small toddler feels like death. I am nearing the end...it will simply take time for my body to recover from a year of torture, where every cell in my body is being killed, turned over, and hopefully restored to a newness of hope and health.
Someday, health will return, it will simply take time....but tonight, this is the face of me, fighting with cancer, hanging on for dear life.
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