Utter Devastation

Multiple myeloma is a cancer that forms in a type of white blood cell (a plasma cell).  It is a blood cancer but also commonly called a bone marrow cancer.  The cancer cells build up in the marrow and crowd out healthy cells.  The most common attributes are bone damage, a weakened immune system, kidney failure, and decreased red blood cell count.  Many people find out they have it after breaking ribs, backs, necks, etc.  It is notorious for causing fractures all across the body.  It can be put to sleep with treatment, but it always comes back.  Sometimes after months, sometimes a couple years, sometimes many years, but unlike other cancers, it will return, it is just a matter of when.  This is what makes it incurable.

This is the hardest part of the journey to express. There I was, living life like everyone else. Working full time, taking care of the kiddos, enjoying my new baby, running this way and that to prepare for the upcoming school year. Then within a span of a couple of weeks, that life was over. I now learned I had an incurable cancer at 34 years old. I had a disease that would kill me. The flood of realizations that come with this is overwhelming. My first thoughts were the girls. Their mother was going to die. The first emotion was heavy, heavy grief. I grieved all of the things I just assumed I would be there for- sports, first days of school, dates, driving, dances, graduations. Goodbye to all of those. I wouldn’t be there. I had been suddenly robbed of all of this. This feeling of grief weighed me down the most. Then there was denial. I kept thinking OK maybe I’m just going to go through some things and then get my other life back. I didn’t want to say the “C” word, I didn’t want to wear any cancer shirts. I didn’t want anybody saying I had cancer. I figured I would just take care of it and then go right back to work and continue my life, like you would with a surgery or the flu or something-just a setback. Guilt. I am single-handedly ruining my kids’ childhood. Childhood is supposed to be a time of joy and wonder. If I die when they are children, their childhood is permanently tainted. I will be the sole cause of their trauma and heavy grief. How could I do this to them? How would they ever get through such a horrific nightmare. The one person who is supposed to be there to console them will be gone. They need their mother and I will be leaving them forever. And what about Chris? He didn’t sign up for this. Does he realize what HE is about to endure? He will be left a young single parent. How is he going to manage? I am also ruining his life. And then my poor parents. How are they going to manage going through all of this? To lose a child? Powerless- I’m used to being in some sense of control. OK, there has to be something out there that will just cure me. I just need to find it. I can’t just actually die from this in a few years. Has there been anyone who survived? “Survived” is relative it seems. Some make it longer, but then it comes back and takes them. Reading online was just absolutely terrifying. It always ended with pure panic, dizziness, sobbing uncontrollably, verge of panic attack, but I couldn’t stop doing it. I was hungry for so.much.information. And then the feelings of why me? Was God punishing me? Had I done something wrong? Why was I given this? Why don’t I get to watch my kids grow up but everyone else does? Then the morbid thoughts of actually dying. Will it hurt? Is there an afterlife? Will I still be able to watch my kids grow up from somewhere else? Will my kids have to watch me slowly deteriorate? What will my funeral be like? I really did become absolutely obsessed with death there for awhile. All in all, I was the epitome of a train wreck. I couldn’t handle the barrage of thoughts. So, I slept. Sleeping was the only thing that would turn off my brain and bring me some relief. When I was awake, it was a waking nightmare. I was sobbing, screaming into pillows, researching, and panicking. I lived in my bedroom. My mom was here. Thank God she was because I couldn’t do so much as make the kids a sandwich without having a full fledged mental breakdown. I hid in my bedroom because I didn’t want the girls to witness their mom crying and wailing. I knew they would both pick up on my uncontrollable crying and depression, so I hid from them. It was such a dark time.