April 3, 2018
Fear. Heart racing. Internal screaming. Looking between people. Dry throat, no words. The doctors’ voices goes in and out. No visible tears, but obvious sadness.
“What do we do? What can we do?” Mom mutters.
“We have options” Dr. Merchant sighs.
As he begins to list off the very limited amount of options my mind vacates the room.
To myself I think “options? That’s good. Maybe a cure”
I tune back in just in time to hear “its past the point of curative. We are at palliative care now”
Great. How comforting.
Cool. This is okay. It’s all going to be okay.
I try and collect my thoughts. I hear Mom asking questions. Glad she can speak. All I can do is stare from the door to the floor.
I knew the cancer would come back but I thought I had more time. Time to live and be a normal person. Time to just be 22. Maybe finish college and go on to study Music Therapy. Go out with friends and get drunk. I mean I wouldn’t do that, but having the option is nice. I thought maybe I’d fall in love and someone would love me.
Back to reality
I say, more for myself than my parents, “I’ve done this twice. I’m not ready to die. Gods got this. He won’t give me anything I can’t handle”
And then, like I truly meant the words I’d just said, I threw the papers in my hand to the ground and said “this just fucking sucks.”
I think everyone was surprised by my words but also understood my frustration.
I don’t sleep much that night.
Today, April 6, 2018
After many tests, I’m on my way home for the weekend. I chose a brand-spanking new chemotherapy trial. I will be the sixth person in the world to try this non FDA approved drug. Sound dangerous? Probably. This was my only option other than to go home and wait to die. If I don’t do this, unfortunately the tumor will grow. More tumors will grow. There’s also the fact that if I don’t do this, they won’t have the research. St. Jude always needs research. It’s a research hospital!
I have to take this chance so that I can have a chance to see my nieces and nephew grow up. I have to take this chance so that hopefully one day I can give my love to someone.
I have so much love to give away.
So much I wanna do.
I’m not ready to die.
The scariest thing about Death knocking on your door? It’s not that this will be painful. I’ll be okay. I will be with my Father in Heaven, painless and joyful, singing praises unto Jesus’s feet. The scariest part is not knowing how my loved ones will take it. Knowing I won’t be there to wipe away the tears. I can’t kiss them on the cheek, hug their necks, and tell them I’m okay.
Some people don’t like to even talk about it. I find things easier to handle if I talk about them.
That’s the whole reason I started this blog.
So, when I am home, I will make sure all my family, all my friends know I love them dearly & that I am okay. I cannot promise that I won’t scream and get mad because being okay now doesn’t mean I shan’t have breakdowns.
But I know God sees me. I know He hears my thoughts and prayers. If He calls me to Heaven early, it will be an honor to see His face.
Much love ♥️