I'm Not Ready For This

The past few months have been exhausting. Emotionally, mentally, physically.

On February 12th, we found out that my mum has cancer. Stage Four. Lungs, liver, brain... it's not looking good. Scratch that. We know it's not good.

I'll try to keep this short as to not bore you all, but it has quickly taken over so much of my life, it'd be impossible to not share here. I've never really had friends in real life, and I don't have many people to talk to.

In one week, everything can change. Within days, things changed from "my abdomen hurts a bit" to "you need to start treatment now, or you'll be dead in two weeks". There were no warning signs. It started in her lungs, but there's still no symptoms. It was only when her liver had swollen to over twice it's normal size, and was already completely overrun by the cancer, that anything appeared to be wrong. Even her GP of 30 years is quite shocked and distressed by it all.

She went through five rounds of chemo in 12 weeks, faster than her oncologist has ever seen. It's helped. But it's worn her down. She's not the same person she was just a few short months ago. Now, they're about to start radiation on her brain (we only found out that it'd spread to her brain two weeks ago). 

It's scary. My dad passed from brain cancer, 25 years ago, and although I'm sure there's been great advances in medicine in that time, my mum watched him slip away and the awful side effects from his cancer and the radiation treatments. Three grandparents and both of my parents will have passed from cancer (assuming my mum doesn't get hit by a car any time soon).

From day one, mum has said that she didn't care where it goes, as long as it's not her brain. Unfortunately, Small Cell Lung Carcinoma tends to spread quickly to the liver and the brain. One month ago today, on her birthday, she cried with happiness when her scans showed it hadn't spread to the brain yet. Two weeks ago, it had.

No matter what treatment they do, the cancer isn't going to shrink much. And we knew from the start that it was never going to get better. All they can do is try to slow it down, and buy her some more time.

Cancer is a bitch.

There's been a lot of hard discussions. Talking about quality of life. What she wants on her headstone. The song at her funeral ('Imagine' by John Lennon). Things she wants when it comes to her final days.

I've been trying to keep it together, for mum's sake. My brother lives an hour away, so I've been trying to do what I can to help out. Whether it's looking in to things she wants to do, movies she wants to see, picking up groceries (read: my support worker picking up groceries while I sit in the car), prepping meals for her, doing a load of dishes or laundry, or just being there to talk, or not talk. Things like shaving her head when her hair started falling out. I go to appointments with her and take notes, because there's so much information coming, she can't remember all the details.

My focus is just on spending time with her, and helping where I can, but it's hard seeing her not being able to do things that were easy a few months ago.

There's just a lot to deal with, and I'm not prepared for this (as selfish as that sounds). It's hard putting on a strong face for mum, and then just falling apart when I get home. I'm filled with depression, fear, anxiety, sometimes even anger. I feel sick when I think about it. Taking care of myself is the next hurdle. Everything has been so intense, and it's moved so quickly. I know there's usually a point in life where the care-giving dynamic changes, and the children start caring for their parents, but it's too soon. I'm only 28. Mum just turned 64. I thought there'd be another twenty years. Nothing about this is fair.

I've spoken a lot to my support worker, even out of hours. She says I'm a friend first and a client second. If I message her at 10pm after a difficult day, she'll always call to check in. I've had many calls to Lifeline, one of which ended with them not believing I could keep myself safe, and sending 'someone' out to check on me. Little did I know, this ended up being the police, who agreed with their assessment, and then paramedics to transport me to hospital. I’ve stopped calling since then.

I'm trying to get my shit together. I'm trying to link in with a counselling service that specializes in terminal illness and grief ('pre-grief', as I've been calling it), but due to my complex mental health issues, they aren't keen on taking me on. My team are still pushing for it though. I'm also looking into finding an outpatient alcohol program, but resources seem scarce.

I know that my mum and I haven't had the greatest relationship at times, which I've talked about here before, but over the last two years, we've gotten a lot closer and mended the wounds. I talk to her every day, and visit her every Saturday (now twice a week). And I'm scared. The only other family I really have is my brother, and we haven't been particularly close. And I worry that, after my mum is gone, the only people in my day-to-day life are going to be those who are paid to be there (support worker ((I only have one these days, and she's become my best friend)), psychologist, doctor, dietitian, etc.). And as much as they mean a lot to me, that seems like a very empty existence.

I'll try not to let this topic overtake my posts, and as always, I want to get back to posting more. I was going to make this post after round two of chemo, round four, round five, hoping that things would quieten down. But with radiation set to start this week, I've realized it's not going to quieten down. It'll just move from one chapter to the next.

I know it's going to be a rough time ahead. While mum is still here, I have to keep going. What scares me if what will happen to me after she's gone.

Birthday Dinner at the local steakhouse

Mum was worried about being turned away for having no hair, and wanted to take a hat with her. She's done amazingly at not feeling like she has to cover up to make others comfortable (she really didn't want to), although it took a lot of convincing. 

She didn't take a hat, and there were no issues. 

When the waitress saw me taking photos of my mum and brother (I'm taking a lot more photos these days), she asked if we wanted a photo of all three of us.

Wagyu eye fillet. When it's potentially our last family dinner out, why cut corners?

(It was amazing, btw, and I had leftovers to bring home)

xxBella