Note: I started writing this a few weeks ago and never posted it, so here it is.
I've been called a supermom a few times now, told how strong I am, that people wouldn't know how to handle it all. The truth is, I am not Supermom, I am just me. Not the same me, mind you, a different me. Somewhat beaten down by the idea that I could lose my daughter along this process; that every time a toxic chemical is ingested, injected, intravenously run into my six year old's body ON PURPOSE, she could have a life threatening reaction, a long term side effect could develop that she would have to live with indefinitely or forever, a learning disability due to neurological damage, bone damage, organ damage or failure, or death, just to name a few.
People outside of this process don't have the same understanding of the change that occurs the moment the words meaning your kid has cancer are uttered. You have to prioritize, compartmentalize your life. Your kid comes first, you put everything else on the back burner, but it all still needs to be dealt with. Bills need to keep being paid. Household chores need to be done. The cat needs to be fed and her litter scooped at least a few times a week. And someone has to work. There's no way you can carry insurance and the household bills without it unless you are blessed to have disposable income to lean on, which the majority of us don't. So you make it work. You put yourself on autopilot, you go through the motions of everything else, focusing on your kid, the tiny moments when they are their old self, the joy of normal kid behavior, the hugs kisses and I love you's. And you try to wash the moments of anger, of tears, of pain, of hurt from all of your brains, because focusing on those things will break you. It's those moments you don't feel strong, or brave, or super. You feel broken, a shell of your former self. And you know that's not right, but it is what it is. You save your strength for them.
This journey is not one i would ever wish on my greatest enemy. but its our journey now, our burden to bear. Most of all my precious daughter, who doesn't deserve this terrible diagnosis to rule her life, but it somehow has. Two and a half months ago, her life revolved around 1st grade and girl scouts, and when the next Game Night was or the next trip to NH to visit our best friends would be. Right now, its about CBCs, ANCs, which meds she needs today, how we can keep her from being so nauseous she will puke, when her tutor is coming, when can she go back to school.
We try to take it day by day, but invariably the big picture overwhelms us. The months of clinic visits yet to come, the planned and unplanned admittance's that are bound to happen. I go through highs and lows quickly, being determined that we have a handle on things one minute, and the next having all my feelings come at me at once when she steps out of the clinic room to go to the playroom with daddy.
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