February 12th is the 2 year anniversary of the worst day of my life.
Today is the day I was diagnosed with cancer.
Today, 2 years ago, I got got told there is no cure. There’s not even a treatment that works really. And that was it.
A lot and yet, nothing, at all has happened since then. I’m stuck in limbo, half alive, half dead. Half capable, half not. A true zombie in the making.
All week, I have been miserable and depressed. Today, I feel nothing at all but a tightness in my throat, like I’m on the verge of tears every time I open my mouth to speak.
Finally, in the late hours of the day, the tears are flowing freely. I’m in pain. It’s been a long day. I hate my life more every day.
I stayed in bed most the day. I took a hot shower using all my favorite Lush scents whether they matched or not. Earlier, I sat in the familiar recliner of the infusion center at the Cancer Casino, listening to the beeping and humming of machines all around me.
Because, just like the last two February’s, I was in the hospital after a gastro-bleed, weak and over hydrated, with swelling to my legs and pelvis making it nearly impossible to stand, walk, put on clothing, etc. So, I sit here, praying my extra bag of iron and nutrients will improve the exhausting situation. My port is throbbing from the thin layer of skin being yanked and pulled over and over as I find the strength to move around.
I texted John yesterday that I wasn’t sure I wanted to go in living this way and I was dead serious.
If this is going to be life, I don’t want it forever. I’m tired.
The recent massive swelling in my legs which makes them so weak I don’t want to leave the house because the thought of walking up a flight of stairs when I get back is daunting.
And the weakness causes me to be unable to get off of our low set couch because I don’t have enough leverage to push up and stand up. John has to lift me to help me stand, which means I’m bedridden all day or sitting in an office chair if I want to be in the living room. If I go anywhere, I have to make sure there will be a handicap bathroom so I don’t get stuck—what would I do? I’m even worried I won’t be able to get out of my own car one day. What if I fall going up the stairs during the day, what would I do?
If you want to discuss something truly mortifying, I got stuck half naked at 3am on the toilet and John had to come lift me off while I sobbed uncontrollably. I’ve never felt more like I want to die in my entire life.
And I feel like it’s never going to get better. I’m just getting worse by the day, by the month, by the year. No doctor is helping me. No doctor even seems to care about me.
I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to travel. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to eat anything. I’m just in constant pain. If it’s not my port, it’s my stomach, or my legs, or my back, or my legs or my joints...there’s no reprieve. Of course, what hurts the most is my heart. It is broken from the pain I cause others. The burden I place on them. The life I once had.
I just want my legs back today. That would lessen some of this deep depression I find myself in.
Every freedom I had is gone now. Who gives a shit about anything when you have nothing left?
So, another year, zero progress, deeper, worse shit to deal with every single day. Fuck celebrating today. There’s nothing to celebrate. Nothing to look forward to. Nothingness.
Tomorrow will be the same.
Happy Cancerversary.
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