Nobody would blame me

The bottom line, up front, is this: nobody would blame me if I snapped like a dry twig under a bear's paw. Life has handed me a series of sobering trials, lessons, whatever you want to call them. The past four and a half years have been difficult, full of good days and bad, but full of serious trials.

After our son's diagnosis with a serious metabolic condition, our family was sent into a tailspin. We moved across the country nearly over night to get closer to some family who would help us, and to get Cooper a better physician. The move was divinely appointed, and although life was hard, it was good. We struggled with the loss of deep and restorative sleep (a loss that continues, albeit tempered by a new schedule on which he is fed and nourished). We struggled with what I refer to as "continual traumatic stress disorder" in which we couldn't get to the POST part of PTSD, because it never ends. 

Our son has a potential medical emergency every few hours as his body cannot maintain blood sugar in a safe range. He is not diabetic. He is missing a liver enzyme that we all have that keeps us safe. And it means that through the strictest dietary management, he'll be fine - as long as we are able to never miss a beat and never make a mistake in his schedule. Never sleep through an alarm. Never sleep in. Never miss a critical dose of his life sustaining starch treatments.

As he grew, life settled down and we hit our stride a bit, and then BAM! I was diagnosed with breast cancer. And here's the thing about breast cancer, it's not like a one time thing, with a short trial. I'm in the thick of it and have been for nearly three months. Scans, tests, blood work, small surgery to implant a port, chemo (four of sixteen sessions done, twelve to go). Genetic test results should be received this week, then I'll talk to the surgeon about the likelihood of mastectomy vs lumpectomy. We'll talk about risk of recurrence, and we'll talk about whether or not I want reconstruction (is the risk of additional surgeries worth .... boobs? I'm not yet convinced....). Then I'll undergo radiation therapy. Then I'll start the decade long use of hormone blocking medications to keep the chance of recurrence low(er). This battle is long, and it is deeply personal. My hair is gone, my eyebrows and eye lashes are likely going to be lost in the next few weeks. I've lost a bit of weight, and food (in general) doesn't appeal to me.

My children, now 6 and 4 (soon to be 7 and 5), are handling it okay, but seem truly "over it". I worry about my daughter who is more aware of the severity of the situation, and who has been watching us react to (sometimes near constant) emergencies with her brother since he was born. She is sensitive, and quiet, and contemplative, and has been acting out a bit in recent weeks.

I'm currently on anti-viral meds, antibiotics, cough medicine, anxiety medicine, specialized vitamins, and digestive aids. My body seems possessed so many days. Just when I think I've hit my chemo stride and I know how my body will react, something new crops up / goes wrong / rears its ugly head. It's like an on-going riddle that is so ridiculously personal - my skin is involved, my hair is involved, my gut is involved, my heart is involved. I have stopped working (at least temporarily), so my identity as a working mother is in a bit of limbo.

My spouse, now taking on all of our son's overnight needs because I cannot be relied on to wake up and take care of him. He's managing our household because I'm not up to it, can't be in the grocery store during flu season, can't cook most nights, can't stand the smell of cooking food some days. He's managing our finances like a hawk - making sure that my time away from work doesn't spell financial disaster for our household. And he's listening to me when I have my small private breakdowns. All while wondering, no doubt, where did his wife go? Wasn't she just here?

So many of my friends have remarked over the years since our son's diagnosis "I don't know how you do it". And I hate that sentence, but there it is. Their quiet admission that they are glad they don't have to do it. Oh sure, when pressed they wouldn't say that's what they meant, they would say "you're very strong", but I think it all translates to "I would have had a fucking breakdown by now, why haven't you?" So now, layer on the breast cancer diagnosis, and the treatment that I am currently in, the steps that lie ahead and threaten to derail my already delicate state of mind, and I believe - NOBODY WOULD BLAME ME. Nobody would bat an eye if I had a nervous breakdown. Right. Now. I believe that my circle, including those with whom I've shared our "journey" the past few years, have been waiting for it, wondering when I would hit my proverbial breaking point. They know it's there somewhere, and we've been toeing the line for years now.

Friends, I'm close. I'm very close. Tomorrow I'll be calling a therapy/counseling center to get my family in for a visit. In the meantime, I've finally let a few of those closest to me see through the chinks in my armor. My husband. My mom. My sisters. A friend back in Texas. They know that I am finally admitting to myself that (a) I do not understand the repeated trials that I must endure, (b) I am committed to continuing to let God shine His light through me, unwavering in my faith, and (c) I am very worn out in every sense of the word.

Nobody would blame me. And yet, the idea of a little breakdown fills me with disdain - it seems a luxury that I cannot afford right now. I'm the thick of battle, but my armor is trusted and proven and my God will not forsake me. Though I am weary, I am not yet broken. And should you cross my path and notice my fatigue, please do not cast a pitying eye my way. But smile, hug me, and ask me if I need a nap. Or perhaps, as my daughter tells me "Go sit on the couch and drink some water, Mom."