My people are reaching out. I have been silent. I am okay. When words are faded on a page, when I don’t write, anxiety and dread can take up residence. Please know, I am okay. I am treading water.
Since my last scare....my last scare? Pause...breathe. My last scare...you mean my life scare. I refuse. I have been living in a scare since May 2019. I refuse to shrug it off. I refuse to shrug my shoulders and behave as if my “inconvenient health issues” are a nonevent, are not relevant. You may disagree. That is your choice.
My sword in this fight are my words. They may be elegant at times, but mostly, and expectedly elementary. They are my words, which mean they are my true heart. I am not looking for debate or confirmation. This is a place to free my very distressed clouded mind.
0n May 21, 2019, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. You all know this. This is not news. I truly expected to beat it. I was going to be the “Pink Ribbon” survivor. Heck, I was finally going to get my Sports Illustrated Swimsuit body as the prize. Unfortunately, that did not happen. At least, not yet! It is all described in my earlier posts, in all of its gory detail, if you are so inclined.
On July 24, 2020, I had a craniotomy to remove a 3cm brain tumor (breast cancer that had metastasized to my brain). Seriously!! That ruined all of my plans of being a “Pink Ribbon” survivor.
I am on chemo. I take chemo drugs daily. I will take chemo drugs for the rest of my life. When the ridiculously expensive cancer drugs that I take daily become ineffective, they will switch me too a new chemo cocktail. Note: the bar menu is not that expansive. I am 51 years old. I pray that the rest of my life includes me seeing my 10 year-old son graduate high school. That is a large stretch goal for someone with brain mets, but you know me, I’ve always had goals.
Truth. Life is hard living with this disease. It is hard trying to be the Renee before cancer. I thought I could shrug cancer off. I thought I could take my meds and suck it up. Suck it up, buttercup.
Suck it up, buttercup. I’m tired. I refuse to shrug my shoulders and behave as if my “inconvenient health issues” are a nonevent, I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. I am done acting as if I am only suffering from a sore throat. I have cancer. Bullocks. I have Stage 4 cancer.
I have nausea daily. I experience some form of diarrhea daily. I have horrible neuropathy from chemo that is only worsening. I have nerve damage in my hands and feet from chemo. My joint and bone pain has me moving as if I am 90 years old. I battle the beginnings of mouth sores vigilantly. I combat severe dry skin that leads to Hand and Foot syndrome . Fatigue, Fatigue haunts me, but “I need to persevere and not let it get me down”. Bullshit. Life surviving cancer sucks. I’m tired, both mentally and physically.
And, I do cry.
I cry for my husband and my son. I am not the same as they once knew me. I am mourning and longing for the Renee that was once singing and dancing at the Lady Gaga concert (3 rows from the stage) on her 50th birthday. I long for my Dancing Queen days. She no longer exists..
Stop. Do not feel sorry for me. Instead, take stock in your own life. Hug your loved ones tighter, be more sympathetic to those around you in need. Soften your heart. Time is fleeting. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Be thankful for all that you have. Rejoice in your loved ones.
I am okay, I am treading water. I am thankful.