I Should Have Been A Counselor

I missed my calling. I should have been a counselor. I helped my two best friends find out what their purpose was for being together. Love is always hard, but when it is at its hardest, that is when you stick it out for the long haul. They love each other so much, but this year has been extremely difficult on both of them. They keep pushing each other away...but this is love. And we always tend to hurt the ones we love the most. Keeping it together when it is all falling apart, that is where love lives. And here they are, still together. And they are getting married...which will be the most beautiful love song that has ever been played. The way I see it, the love they have for each other is enough to last two lifetimes. I will be damned if I let them run each other off. They were made for each other.

As far as today goes, I was sicker than I had been in a while. Seizure after seizure. I could not catch my breath. And this gets hard...so hard on not only me, but my family as well. And though I am on hospice do not think I am giving up. I am fighting my ass off. I fight every day to get out of the bed. I fight every day to spend quality time with my kids. I fight every day. 

This post has been a long time coming. I have written it a million or so times, lying in bed in the early morning hours, but when the time came to write it down, I never managed to do it. Something else would easily distract me, and I'd forget to come back, most likely on purpose. I avoided it. But it was always there in the back of my mind and it taunted me as much as the stuff going on in real life, because I was needing to write about real life.

But when I first made this blog, I promised myself I wouldn’t do it if I couldn’t be completely open and honest about the experience I was having with my health. I’ve read so many blog where people try to be upbeat and you can tell it’s not real. Then other blogs where people are pleading sympathy or asking for money, whether they were truly sick or not doesn’t matter. For me, I was only going to do this if I could tell my truth, as I lived it.

And sometimes that truth got pretty dark and depressing. And when it did, it was hard to write about it, because it felt like all I was doing was complaining, like life was miserable and not worth living.

You see, being diagnosed with a terminal illness wasn't that traumatic for me. Actually being sick isn’t that traumatic to me. What is traumatic to me is all the medical procedures and treatments that prolong and/or extend my life.

My thoracotomy completely changed my life. Why did they assault me? Why did they have to traumatize me?

Why did they assault me? Why did they have to traumatize me?

To this day, I still tear up when I tell the story of what happened. To this day, I sometimes wake up from dreams of being on that table. to this day, I have to take anxiety medication to work up the nerve to go in for a medical procedure. To this day I freak out when I think about being strapped down and laid out naked on a table like a piece of dead meat.

And after this happened… I stopped writing in this blog like I was before.

Why?

Because I couldn’t bring myself to tell the truth…

The truth was, I was ashamed. I was embarrassed. I was scared. I was shamed and embarassed to be scared. I felt like a failure, like I wouldn’t have to be sick if I could just suck it up and do what I was supposed to and get that test. I could start the medication that would help make me better and life would be good, but I’m a big whiny ass baby.

I hated myself. I hated the doctors. I was so angry.

So every time I tried to write a blog post, that’s all that came out any more. Anger, anger, anger. Depression. Depression is nothing but anger turned inward anyway. I was emo blogging and I was started to annoy even myself.

And because I was so codependent and worn down at this point, I stayed after that. I would NEVER accept that today. But they had worn me down so much, I someone thought I had no choice. Even my mother asked me why I stayed. I think it was akin to an abused spouse. You just get to the point where you feel even leaving won’t make any difference. I have said many times, I feel like if I had stayed, I’d probably be dead now. Hospice saved my life.

…and for that, I am so very grateful. I love my life. It’s fucking hard right now. I’m not even kidding you. There are days I just want to throw it up down and give up. But only for that day. Only in that moment. Sometimes, I give in to that. I’m allowed. But the next day, I pick up and try again. And if 20 days in a row I fail, then I’ll pick up 21 days in a row and try.

Some day, I might have to make a decision. But that day is not today and it won’t be any time soon.

But the reason I hadn’t written on the blog in so long was because I promised myself I would always tell the truth on this blog. My truth. I wasn’t going to lie to make it seem easier to other people who are newly diagnosed, because that’s not what I needed to read when I was newly diagnosed.

My hope is, now that I’ve gotten this out of me and through my fingertips, I will be able to move forward and write again. And to write without the anger, so I can be real, both with myself and with you, about what it’s like living with a chronic, terminal illness. But to do it in a way that doesn’t leave you wanting to gouge your eyes out or scream at me…LOL

So stick with me. When I go radio silent, sometimes, it’s because I need someone else to reach out to me… you can do that, any time, you know. Other times, it’s because I just don’t know what to say or how to say what’s going on with me inside.

I do know this business of being sick sort of sucks rocks on steroids… and I’ve had quite enough of it. But like I also told my nurses this week: I’m not anywhere near where I used to be before I got sick, and I don’t care what anyone says about my ‘chances’ or ‘odds’ or ‘numbers’, I’m not ever going to give up trying to gain back all I’ve lost. There’s no point in having lived through everything I should have died from if I give up now.

But ultimately, I love my life, and I love being alive. I’d rather live in pain than to not live at all–and that’s the truth.

Rough morning.

Here’s hoping you all have a better Monday morning than mine has been, and here’s looking to a better night for me too.

Love you all and truly mean it and God loves you too!

Shanna xoxo

Here is the link to our Go Fund Me Page to help with medical and travel expenses: gofund.me/hope4shanna2016

Official blog Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/shannabananahealthandfitness 

Official prayer warrior page for my fight against lung cancer: facebook.com/hope4shanna