Wednesday, February 10, 2016
For those who have read my earlier blog posts, you may remember I was a care provider to my disabled mother-in-law for eleven years. She had suffered a stroke when my son was five weeks old, then went in to congestive heart failure six months later. She died in 2011.
The marathon of caring for the elders started June 2000. It has been quite a journey, and aside from the challenge of trying to keep those around me alive and happy and comfortable, old and young alike, I found great satisfaction in the moments. You know, reading books to my kids in bed, baking cookies on rainy days, spending sunny days at track meets and soccer games, watching my kids laugh at my silliness, listening to my son play a beautiful Mozart clarinet concerto for my father who was in hospice and didn't have long to live, listening to my daughter gush about a great book she just read, watching Jeopardy with the family and realizing my kids are smarter than me. Those moments. Precious moments.
So, the bad news. I have pancreatic cancer. I won't lie. I'm a little pissed. Maybe more than a little. I was diagnosed August 2015 and I am undergoing treatment. So far, so good. I've had successful surgery, but this is a sneaky cancer that is extremely resilient. I am determined to be more resilient. Fuck you cancer. Do you have any idea how much crap I've put up with? Seriously, do you think you can take me down? Well, FUCK YOU a million times over.