I don’t want to die.
I wasn’t going to write tonight as there weren’t many things to report. On Monday we had headed across town to Dr. H’s only to discover that the injection wasn’t the right formula (it was the pediatric one). The correct injection arrived this morning and cost an extra $200. Thanks to Discover Card, I was able to get the injection. Of course, Dr. H was kind enough not to charge us an extra office visit for the mix up, but I was too busy focusing on the fact I hate needles to express the full range of my gratitude. Again, I know there is a world of irony in a nurse hating needles; I love giving them and happen to be quite good at it. Receiving, however, not really a thrill and this particular shot was given into the muscle of my butt, which surprised me since that isn’t the recommended place to give IM shots anymore (a little nursing factoid for you: preferred locations are the arm and the thigh depending on how much fluid needs to be injected.)
With that and my bout of dizziness from dehydration being the biggest news items, you can understand why I figured I’d skip tonight and maybe tack these things onto a post later this week. Unfortunately, while watching my favorite guilty pleasure (Glee) I started crying again. I burst into tears pretty easily lately. For instance, listening to my wedding song (Feels Like Home To Me) made me into a blubbering idiot for about 45 minutes the other day. When she says that she’s found a love she never expected, I thought of my handsome and wonderful husband. I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want him to have to suffer if things don’t work out for the best. How would he manage?
Whenever I go down that negative route, I do my best to pull myself back out of it. I truly believe in self-fulfilling prophecies. If you allow the negative in, there is a good chance that is what will happen. I don’t want to be one of the statistics; I want to be one of the survivors. I want to be the story people tell to motivate others into staying positive when they are diagnosed with cancer. Like my Great Aunt Elsie, who told doctors she didn’t care if they didn’t believe she’d walk again after her cancer; she was going to walk! She did, with the use of crutches, and she didn’t let anyone convince her otherwise.
It’s not as if I am pessimistic about the outcome all the time. I catch myself saying, “I hope our kids have his smile,” and “When we have children, we are so getting those.” I think about what our children will look like, what books we’ll read to them, and how I’ll help them with their homework…but those dreams sometimes knock me back into the reality of the situation.
I have cancer and I don’t want to die.
Sometimes, I don’t feel like I can voice that to anyone. They tell me I won’t die when I do bring it up. Everyone reminds me I am only 30 and I have no other major medical issues that will complicate my treatment. I stand a chance at fighting this successfully, especially given the killer team of physicians I have. Yet, I still need an outlet for these feelings and emotions when they bubble over. Much like I wouldn’t want Milo to be strong all the time, I can’t expect to be tough constantly either. I’m going to have doubts and fears as we head into the treatment phase. Heck, I’ve had them since the diagnosis. I’m allowed that.
Fact remains: I don’t want to die and I’m so scared that this is the one fight in my life I won’t win. It’s a terrible feeling to have dwelling inside and I’m uncertain as to how to fight it. Suggestions are welcome, but I have a feeling wallowing is part of the process. I welcome the progression, so long as I come out victorious.