As for the emotional day, I have been crying off and on all day long. Yesterday, I made a decision that I thought was perfect for my family. I have ALWAYS wanted to live in Arizona. Don't ask me why...it has always been calling my name. I thought I was making the right decision. My oldest refuses to go, and my mom is very upset with my decision. She thinks I am going to die alone. Honestly, I wanted to get away from all the severe weather and I wanted to take my children to a place where there was so much for them to do. And the medical industry is amazing. But, now, I think I will stay in Texas. Maybe I was making a rash decision because I am dying and was just wanting to live out my dream. Who would Kevin and the kids have in Arizona when I pass away?
For a few days, I've been sliding down the sheer face of a cliff, desperately grabbing for something to slow my plummet. It's been the most painful and unsettling time I've experienced since my diagnosis.
Every problem feels magnified. There are no small issues. Nearly every decision is life-changing or life-threatening. I'm trying to pick through them teasing out just one at a time so I can try to deal with something. So I can try to unravel a mess of a life.
This week I began to understand one of my many current flaws: I equate people wanting to help me with people's want for me to live.
I'm going to continue to focus on the things that brings me that intrinsic happiness. Writing for my blog, playing and teaching my kids, cuddling with my husband, spending time with my fur children, and hanging out with my mama...and of course spending time with my best best best friends.
Most waking hours, in order to be physically comfortable, I need to lie down or at least recline in my bed. In fact, I often measure how well I'm doing by how many hours I was able to spend out of bed on a given day. Sad, isn't it?
Tomorrow my doctor wants to see me (my primary care doctor). He wants to talk to me about Hospice Care. Once a patient decides to stop curative treatment, they transition to hospice. As I understand it, insurance officially stops paying for anything needed meant to cure the person and instead focuses on what's needed to provide comfort and symptom relief.
I don't really know what to think about Hospice. I am not ready to give up, but my IPF makes that kind of difficult. I've been able to deal with a lot by pretending my situation isn't as serious as it is. And I know beginning Hospice doesn't mean I will die by a certain date. I've read a few stories where people flourished and even lived for a few "extra" years once they make the transition to hospice. It makes sense that some people thrive once they are out from under the thumb of constant treatment.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, my oldest was seventeen, my daughter had just turned fourteen, and my youngest was only eleven. There was a time not long ago when I doubted I would see this day.
Last fall, my worldview shifted dramatically, and my view of my children growing up followed suit. Now, I no longer mourn the passing days of their childhood. Like many parents, I used to have a twinge of sadness knowing they were one day closer to growing up and leaving home. Now, instead of sadness, I feel a twinge of relief and a boatload of joy, for each one is a moment that I am still here to enjoy. It is as if the faster they grow, the more of their lives I will get to see. As if they could only grow fast enough, they might outpace my cancer.
I look at my youngest son and I see the baby face start to disappear before my eyes, and glimpses of the young man he will become peek out at me.
I see the feisty spirit of my little girl, and her focus and determination resonate in my soul; it's the same fire that burns in me. Looking in her eyes is like looking in a mirror. And I dream of the woman she will one day become.
Then there is my oldest. His spirit drives him. He is so independent and strong. His shoulders are my landing place. For an eighteen year old, he has had to deal with so much...and that is why God made his shoulders so big. He has so much determination, so much going for him. He is going to be a wonderful man.
These fleeting moments....
I think about young people whose lives have been cut short by cancer. I think about young children whose futures have been erased by this disease. I think of all the moms and dads who have left this world, leaving children to grow up without them...and then I think about me.
I think about all of this, and I celebrate my children growing up. Because I am so proud of the people they are becoming. Because they bring me so much joy. Because right now in this moment, I am here to enjoy it.
Love you all and mean it...and God loves you too,
Shanna xoxo
Official prayer warrior page for my fight against lung cancer: facebook.com/hope4shanna
Official blog Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/shannabananahealthandfitness
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