I am pregnant. And I have breast cancer. I am in the middle of a very large struggle. The truth is, if I weren’t pregnant, I would have never undergone chemotherapy. I would have let nature take its painful and inevitable course. I know I often play the role of wise-beyond-her-years sage here on Truu but the truth is, I am often stupid, and I am often scared. I am.
The truth is that I am not as enlightened as I manage to seem online. I often lose my temper, both at home and in public. I often tune my doctors out during treatment because hearing them talk is so painful. I often eat chocolate, despite it tasting terrible. I think I do it as a sort of self-punishment. I think part of me feels I deserve to suffer.
I am so depressed sometimes that it makes me thankful I can’t get out of bed … because I don’t think I would even if I was allowed to.
But there are also good times. Amazing ones. Like my dad’s new puppy, and Random Cat, and being surrounded by some of the most beautiful people I’ve ever been privileged to know, and … him.
I love my son so much. He needs me so desperately, and I need him. We are two against the world. Two against the disease. No matter what happens, he and I understand each other more than any two people ever could. We have faced death together. We have drank poison together. My son is my anchor, in a way no husband, mate, or lover ever could be. He fills a void in my life that I did not even know was there. He is my reason for living.
This probably sounds so insane, doesn’t it? Well, that’s because I have gone more than a little bit insane. But please don’t judge me too harshly for that. How sane would you be, in such a crazy situation? I think any of us would lose our minds.
I spend almost all day with my little home-built laptop, pouring my heart out … and because of that, you are with me. Yes, you. Every single one of you are here with me. You were with me when I so stupidly declared myself “so ready” for a baby. You were with me when I realized that lump probably wasn’t anything good. You have been with me while I had dose upon dose of dox pumped into my chest. You were holding my hand when I first heard his heartbeat and saw his little split-lip face. You will be the among the first to know his name, his weight, and the triumph of his glorious survival.
Thanks, Truu. I appreciate you more than you know. You tolerate my insanity, and you hold my hand. What more can a girl ask for?