When crappy stuff happens to you, if you’re like every other human being on the planet you ask, “Why me?!”
I asked that question a BUNCH when we began trying to build our family – all our friends had no problems getting pregnant, and had no infertility issues: “Why me?!”
But then a wonderful thing happened – I found a community of people just like me trying to start a family and I have since found some of my closest and dearest friends through that journey.
Now I’m faced with a different journey – one that actually still makes the infertility journey feel so raw all over again.
My biopsy did not come back clean – my journey to beat this cancer is just beginning. And I’ve found myself asking out loud, to my friends/family: “Why me?!”
But then in other conversations with my mom and my church pastor, we’ve discussed the harder side of that statement: “Why not me?”
Someone is diagnosed with skin cancer every eight minutes. And it just so happens, I fell into that eight minute window.
Trust me, I’m FAR from zen about this whole thing. This is about as zen as I’ve gotten the past week:
I’m actually pretty angry. I’ve been scared, loopy, hopeful, terrified – a FULL range of emotions as I’ve waited out the test results from my surgery last week. I keep asking to anyone who’s listening: “When is it going to be enough?” Right now, I’m not sure I believe the statements: “We are never given anything we can’t handle” or “This too shall pass” because frankly, I’m not sure if I can handle this and when I’m told by my oncologist that this may be something I will have to deal with for the rest of my life …well, that doesn't feel like something that shall pass!
But then again, maybe its just the anger talking. Especially since Mook and I had the conversation yesterday (on Mother’s Day of all days) that we are closing the book on expanding our family. I don’t think I’ll ever give up that tiny 1% chance of hope that our “jeans” could be passed on just by ::gasp:: having SEX, but we definitely won’t do any more treatment, and have decided not to pursue adoption. (it’s hard even typing that)
The focus obviously is shifting to making sure I get better and as always– remember how freaking lucky I am to be O-man’s Mommy. I don’t take that for granted for one second. But it still aches to know that with this additional lemon being thrown into our lives, that we had to come to this decision sooner than we would have liked.
My lymph nodes are clear (as of now) the surrounding tissue, is wracked with abnormal cells – as were the margins around the skin that was taken out during surgery last week. So, I’m incredibly thankful that the timing of all of this saved me from advancing quicker into Stage III – I’m hoping I’ll hang in with Stage II until I can whip this thing.
Starting interferon injections next week for the next 6 months – let’s hope I don’t barf on too many shoes in the process.
So yes, universe – “Why not me?” This isn’t my choice for how to enter into my 32nd year of life, but if I can encourage a few people who may read this post to go get their skin checked, then maybe I’ll help someone with early detection. I will find a way to turn this experience into something(s) positive.
But today? This sucks. (just being honest) I’ll ebb and flow between all the above emotions – so now that I know what’s ahead of me, I can tackle one day at a time….
I asked that question a BUNCH when we began trying to build our family – all our friends had no problems getting pregnant, and had no infertility issues: “Why me?!”
But then a wonderful thing happened – I found a community of people just like me trying to start a family and I have since found some of my closest and dearest friends through that journey.
Now I’m faced with a different journey – one that actually still makes the infertility journey feel so raw all over again.
My biopsy did not come back clean – my journey to beat this cancer is just beginning. And I’ve found myself asking out loud, to my friends/family: “Why me?!”
But then in other conversations with my mom and my church pastor, we’ve discussed the harder side of that statement: “Why not me?”
Someone is diagnosed with skin cancer every eight minutes. And it just so happens, I fell into that eight minute window.
Trust me, I’m FAR from zen about this whole thing. This is about as zen as I’ve gotten the past week:
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| Taking a moment out of my day to appreciate life's beautiful artwork |
I’m actually pretty angry. I’ve been scared, loopy, hopeful, terrified – a FULL range of emotions as I’ve waited out the test results from my surgery last week. I keep asking to anyone who’s listening: “When is it going to be enough?” Right now, I’m not sure I believe the statements: “We are never given anything we can’t handle” or “This too shall pass” because frankly, I’m not sure if I can handle this and when I’m told by my oncologist that this may be something I will have to deal with for the rest of my life …well, that doesn't feel like something that shall pass!
But then again, maybe its just the anger talking. Especially since Mook and I had the conversation yesterday (on Mother’s Day of all days) that we are closing the book on expanding our family. I don’t think I’ll ever give up that tiny 1% chance of hope that our “jeans” could be passed on just by ::gasp:: having SEX, but we definitely won’t do any more treatment, and have decided not to pursue adoption. (it’s hard even typing that)
The focus obviously is shifting to making sure I get better and as always– remember how freaking lucky I am to be O-man’s Mommy. I don’t take that for granted for one second. But it still aches to know that with this additional lemon being thrown into our lives, that we had to come to this decision sooner than we would have liked.
My lymph nodes are clear (as of now) the surrounding tissue, is wracked with abnormal cells – as were the margins around the skin that was taken out during surgery last week. So, I’m incredibly thankful that the timing of all of this saved me from advancing quicker into Stage III – I’m hoping I’ll hang in with Stage II until I can whip this thing.
Starting interferon injections next week for the next 6 months – let’s hope I don’t barf on too many shoes in the process.
So yes, universe – “Why not me?” This isn’t my choice for how to enter into my 32nd year of life, but if I can encourage a few people who may read this post to go get their skin checked, then maybe I’ll help someone with early detection. I will find a way to turn this experience into something(s) positive.
But today? This sucks. (just being honest) I’ll ebb and flow between all the above emotions – so now that I know what’s ahead of me, I can tackle one day at a time….