Battered

It’s getting really cold now.  Yesterday we started the day at -10 and overnight it was close to -15; today was slightly warmer, up to 0.  The cold is discouraging.  Jerry continues to snuggle and try to get on my lap for most of the day.  Doesn’t matter that I explain to him that after his sleeping on me all night, I need some puppy-free moments.  Apparently that makes no sense to him and he settles on my lap.  Don, like me, is complaining about the cold and rolled up in his blanket.  There are games on later tonight, and I think that I’ll go cuddle under my faux-fur blanket while he cheers on his team.

I had my appointment yesterday, and was disappointed to learn that I’ve lost more weight.  My appetite, though, is still fairly decent, although obviously not as big as I thought!  I’d ordered Chinese last night and had several servings but I’m not happy with the chicken… pity!  Take out is so expensive that I’m unwilling to throw things out, unless it’s likely to make me sick and this chicken seems like it will.

I’m sorry to share that my results were not what I expected, and I’m still trying to make sense of what’s happening.  It was like being kicked in the stomach by a Clydesdale and then hit by an 18-wheeler at high speed.  I haven’t shared details outside of my family yet; I will eventually, but I need some space first.  I know that people mean well, and they are often struggling with what to say, but just right now I’m not in a place to hear that I should “be positive” and “just hold on to Jesus’ robe” or any of those types of comments.  I know they’re well meant; I know they come from a place of concern, but just right now I need a pause to lick my wounds and stagger back to my feet.  I’m going to say one thing, and I hope you’re not offended by it.  Dealing with cancer is not a question of willpower or strength.  If it were, things would be seriously different.  But really, it’s a series of ups and downs, and while having a positive attitude is beneficial, it’s no guarantee of anything.  So please, don’t call me — I’m not speaking for other patients at the moment — a “warrior” or a “fighter” or anything like that.  That suggests that healing is a question of strength, bravery and the ability to fight, and again, if it were, things would be drastically changed.  I remain grateful for the prayers and thoughts that people offer for me, and for those who do things to try to cheer me up, it’s honestly touching for me.  Like this one person who I’ve never physically met, but who sends me reading material (that she’s written) to help distract and cheer me up.  Or the one who calls me every day without fail just to make sure I’m ok.  Or the one who sends food from time to time.  My gratitude for them and their actions is deep.

Right now I’m in a stage where I want to rage, scream, throw tantrums and yell about how unfair things are.  I’d honestly like to cry, but I can’t… after years of being trained to “control yourself in public” I can’t easily cry even in private.  I think if I could, I’d probably feel a little better, instead of having a ball of tension sitting in me.  I know that people aren’t comfortable with emotions, especially strong ones, so I keep these things squashed… and I know that’s not recommended, but I’m trapped in a loop.  

That’s it for tonight, I’m going to sort out my supper and then… well, who knows.  I’ll find something to amuse myself.  Good night.