Unrelenting Fear

   I went to the emergency room in Denton (Presbyterian) last night because my breathing, even on the oxygen, had become very labored. I had also been running a high fever since Thursday. With pulmonary fibrosis, you never know when you need to go to the emergency room since it could move quickly. I found out that the scarring has started spreading. This is why I am in immense pain on the right side. I also have an upper respiratory infection, which only aggravates the PF and the lung cancer. I was given Rocephin in the ER and Dilloted with Benadryl. The doctor wanted to admit me but because of our transportation issue, he reluctantly let me go home. 

   And I had the best sleep ever. I did not wake up until almost 1 today. It was the first time I had slept through the night in weeks.

   So, my dear sweet loving husband is cooking us dinner tonight even though he has to work overtime tonight. I requested his amazing tacos. I am a very lucky woman. I have three amazing children and the greatest husband God could've ever blessed me with.

   Before I became a mother, I had this notion that a newborn child was like a lump of clay that could be molded in my loving hands. Yes, I was a firm believer in nurture over nature. Three children into the experience, it became clear to me that children are born with much of their personality already hardwired. In contrast to malleable balls of clay, they seemed to be nearly completed marble statues. The best I could hope to do was soften the edges.

   I was thinking about how very different Tristan, Kaitlyn, and Damion are. They are different in nearly every way. My daughter is fair, my oldest is dark, and my youngest is in between. Damion and Kaitlyn are following my mother's side growth curve, and Tristan is following mine and Kevin's (he's short). Kaitlyn has my heart and compassion,loves dolls, reading,animals, insects, and learning. Tristan has my love for spelling and writing, and he loves video games. Damion has my sarcasm and quick wit, loves video games, and is extremely artistic. Kaitlyn and Damion are easy-going, and Tristan is feisty and worried all of the time. The list goes on and on. Sometimes it is hard to believe that they share the same genetic material.

   I was trying to come up with a way to summarize the differences in their personalities. It occurred to me that if Kaitlyn, Damion, and Tristan stumbled across a pile of dung, Kaitlyn would look at it and say, "Great!! Fertilizer." She always looks on the bright side. And the boys? They never mince words and they call things as they see them. They would look at the steaming pile and say, "No, that's a load of shit!"

   Something about this image made me laugh hysterically. As I sit here writing this, the image oddly gives me some amount of peace. Whatever happens, Kaitlyn will turn it into something good, and my boys will deal with it honestly and openly. They won't be afraid to say that life had been unfair. But, ultimately, I think that the boys' realistic nature will allow them to move on, knowing that sometimes "Shit happens."

   I am terrified in a way that I have never been before in my life. Even staring down the barrel of an AK47 pales in comparison to this. That death would have been quick and left no motherless children behind. This death is a slow march along an uncertain path filled with choices that I do not want to be responsible for making. Everything feels like it is unfolding in slow motion and the constellation of emotions that fills my day- their sheer number and intensity- leaves me mentally exhausted. 

   I have taught the kids that there are two kinds of fear; the fear that protects and the fear that paralyzes. The former keeps you alive while the latter keeps you from living. The irony for me at this point is that I am trying so desperately to make choices that will protect me that I feel completely paralyzed. The responsibility I feel for choosing the right path is enormous and weighs on me like a suit of armor that immobilizes more than it protects.

   I used to be able to discern between the two types of fear. There was a difference in the way they felt in my gut. There is a difference between the adrenaline surge that keeps you from walking down a dark alley and the one that keeps you from boarding a plane to your vacation in an exotic locale. Maybe our guts understand probability. But now my gut is in a knot and I cannot understand its messages. All it seems to be saying is, "I'm desperately afraid." So, I am trying to innumerate and understand my fears, hoping that I might be able to deal with them one by one.

   Perhaps the greatest of my fears is the uncertainty of what lies ahead for me. I feel as though the end of my life is drawing near. I cannot discern if this is depression talking, a realistic assessment of the situation, or a sixth sense. I don't want to die. I have loved living and I want to be with my children and Kevin for years to come. But, I have this overwhelming sense of foreboding that my time is running out, like I am reading a novel and the author has foreshadowed the ending, and I just don't want to read any further. When I was a child, I would read the end of the book before the beginning and, if I did not like the ending, I would elect not to read the book. That's how I feel now. I don't want this ending. Of course, I am acting like I know the ending when, in reality, I don't know at all.

   I am afraid of being a failure. All my life I have been able to achieve my goals. What I lacked in innate intelligence, I was able to compensate for with hard work and tenacity. And now, I cannot seem to effect any change in my health. I feel responsible to fix this, to rectify the situation; yet, I seem powerless to do so. My lack of control and my irrational sense that this is somehow my fault is fueling a depression that I also cannot contain.

   I am afraid of physical suffering. My physical suffering has increased substantially since the scarring has spread. And this terrifies me.

   I am afraid of mental suffering. Prior to the last several months, I can honestly say that I have had no experience with true depression. I have endured physical pain in many forms over the years and I can say that is does not even come close to feeling the way emotional anguish feels. Depression is an insidious and powerful beast. There are days when I feel like someone has cast a gray film over everything. I search for joy wherever it lies. Sometimes, I turn on my music and the kids and I have a dance party. Or we enjoy family game night. These are such small acts but they put a smile on our faces and make life seem normal...even for a minute. And then there are moments when I can see everything I stand to lose and I want to curl in a ball and die, just to get it over with. So it doesn't have to hurt so much every day.

   I am afraid of leaving my children unanchored in the world without a mother. I worry that they will never be able to heal the hole in their heart that my death leaves in its wake. I know they will never be the same after losing me and I want to trust that it is not an irrecoverable loss. But it is so hard to imagine how one recovers from losing a mother at such a tender age. That is why I am grasping at medical straws that I thought I'd leave untouched. I need to be able to look at my children and say, honestly, "I did everything I reasonably could to stay and now the most loving thing I can do is set you free from my suffering and yours."

   I am afraid of an undignified death. I do not want a hospital death, hooked up to tubes and machines. I want to go peacefully.

   I am afraid to die. What if there is nothing after this life? What if it truly is an ending and not a transition? I cannot bare the idea that I will never see Kevin and the children and the many people I have loved throughout my life again.

   A couple of months ago I had a dream that I had been called on a space mission for, of all things, my mathematical skills (this is a laughable idea). I entered into a large steel elevator and traveled to the mission center. When I arrived, it turned out I wasn't really needed and spent my time socializing with similarly redundant staff. At some point I had to repack my bags. Having accumulated a great deal during my visit, I had to leave many things behind before making my way back to the steel elevators. I entered the large box once again and retraced my journey. When the steel doors opened again, Kevin was there with the children and we were happily reunited. After I woke, I felt certain the dream was a message to be at peace and that we would all be together again someday.

   I try to use this dream to counter my many fears. And I try many other coping skills as well. I try to focus on being present in the moment. I physically feel my body in its surroundings. I finally realized this week that being present in the moment does NOT mean being happy; it means feeling whatever you are feeling at the time:sadness, fear, desperation. Being one with the feeling seems to neutralize it somehow. And I have finally admitted to myself that I am clinically depressed and need to see a therapist. This was a very hard thing for me to admit because I am hell bent on being "strong enough" to manage all this myself. 

   I didn't realize how difficult this would be emotionally. I was never a big fan of amusement rides and I feel like I am on an interminable roller coaster. And, I am holding on for dear life in more ways than one. I am still here and I need to resist the urge to enter some emotional coma that deprives me of all the joy that is still available to me.

   Love you all...mean it,

   Shanna xoxoxo

gofundme.com/hope4shanna

facebook.com/hope4shanna