I have spent the better part of that 6 years with my mind on an automatic shutdown when I thought about even a month into my future. Couldn't see it, wouldn't see it, didn't want to see it-otherwise an all encompassing, consuming fear and terror would in-case me body, mind, spirit and soul. There I would freeze. My kids will grow up without me as their mother. They will experience heartache and anguish that will never fully heal. I remember crying into the phone to my best friend Nicole, as I read the scan report in my car-all I could see were the words "multiple malignancies" all over the pages, and I said to her through snot-covered, blubbering sobs "Ethan will never know me." I thought of Sydney as a teenager-when a girl would need her mother the most and my soul would shatter.
My diagnosis came and all of a sudden I noticed every funeral home, every cancer center, every commercial for cancer. Fran and I had these weirdo "we're kidding but we're not" conversations about should I be cremated and where will I be buried and you better make sure I look awesome in that casket. His burden as a father and husband only he can speak to during these difficult times, but I knew his burden was great.
No one could say to me that I was going to get better and that it would be okay. They would want to, as I would if the situation was reversed, but the fact was that I was not okay and I probably wasn't going to get to "okay."
I remember many difficult conversations Dr. Moriarty had to have with us about me and the let's say "difficult" situation I was in. I would get bratty and try and make him say that I would make it to 50-60-90 years old. Forcing him into a corner to say "no Karen from my experience, probably not."
I remember him telling me -as was his job and duty-just about 3 years ago or so "you might want to start thinking of having a different conversation with your kids." Me: (pretty deadpan and jaded at this point) about dying and stuff? Him: yeah
Now here we are my dear, loving supportive friends and family. Almost 6 years later. Thank you God I am still here. Thriving, joyful, and happy.
About 2 weeks ago I had my scans. Fran and I got the official lowdown at Dr. Moriarty's last week.
Did you know there is beauty in the word unremarkable? Spleen-unremarkable, ovaries-unremarkable, kidneys-unremarkable, liver...unremarkable. I also find the words, boring, normal and ordinary very beautiful. For me they mean not only life, but a quiet, calm life.
My scan showed that again there is no visible sign of disease. It was very unexciting and very boring (a thing of beauty). I heard it from my doctors, I read it on the report, okay-breathing, breathing, breathing.
There is a nodule on my lung that is very small (3mm). It hasn't shown up on the reports since 2009. But it was picked up during this scan. Did I freak-you better believe it. But Dr. Moriarty reassured us that it isn't new, it hasn't changed in 3 years and it is nothing to be concerned about.
I am still considered to be in remission. I almost want to whisper that word, to write it very, very tiny. I feel like if I say it in a normal voice or write it loud and proud the cancer cells that still skulk within me will hear and try to "get the gang" back together.
But yet I am grateful. Grateful to the depths of my core. When Ethan calls out for me in the night it is never lost on me how lucky I am that I can run into his room, hold his hand and reassure him everything is okay. Ethan says "can you stay with me mommy?" "Yes, yes, yes-my dear sweet boy."It brings tears to my eyes almost every time.
Or when Sydney is just so tired and had a long day and just wants to sit and hug and have a little cry, and I get to do that. I get to be her mommy and hug her and say "just need a bit of lovin and a bit of a cry Syd?" I will take that over any material thing in life. I just want, like all of us, life and to live. To raise my children and love them like a crazy person.
I am here today. I have been shown great immeasurable mercy. As I say in almost every blog-I don't know how or why I am still here but I am. I am learning to get rid of the survivors guilt. I am learning feeling guilty about living is an insult to our dear friends who are not here and produces and accomplishes nothing.
I am forever indebted to all of you and your prayers, love, friendship and support. Let us all keep praying for each other because we all need it. I continue to pray for all of you, those who I know and those who I don't. May God's mercy continue, and be with all those still suffering and fighting to be well.
Much Love,
Karen
