Bitter Tears

It's been just about 3 weeks since I dropped the bombshell news about my disease and its difficult prognosis.  Has it been enough time for those I love and care about to process this news in a healthy way?  Has it been enough time for me?  What, really, comes next?

Initially, as expected, there was a flurry of calls, texts, emails, prayers, visits, assistance, travel plans, sharing the news (as I had asked), thoughts, opinions, and a wide range of emotions.  Some folks reaching out that I didn't expect to; others that have not reached out that I would have thought I'd hear from.  Most surprising of all to me?  How some of you were immediately pessimistic with respect to my unknown time left on this Earth, believing it to be days or at best, weeks.  How some seemed to feel that I was giving up the fight, that I wasn't doing everything possible to prolong my own life.  How some, upon seeing me, seemed surprised that I looked relatively normal (well, except for the obvious weight loss).  I was left wondering, 3 weeks later, if I'd made a mistake in not keeping this to myself.

Let's face it - the longer I stay alive, the more we all will revert back to our "regular" lives.  And while there is a part of me that welcomes that to a certain degree (it is hard to think of the disruptions to many of your lives already experienced in these past 3 weeks), there is another part of me that is bitter about it.  Because the little things that tell me I'm not going to be OK, that a miracle is not in the offing, that confirm my time here is truly quite limited continue to make themselves known.  The decreasing ability to walk, climb stairs, move without pain.  The swelling of my ankles.  The need for blood transfusions to address low hemoglobin results.  An inability to eat enough to gain desperately needed weight.  Episodes of shortness of breath.  Some of these issues are visible; others are not.  All are evidence that the march of the tumors continues. 

And while I think I'm doing a pretty good job of keeping it all together, focusing on each day as it comes, trying to remain optimistic about my chances for a bit of longevity, the fact of the matter is I am scared every day, and there are many, many moments of bitter tears when I not only ponder my inevitable fate, but also reflect on all the momentous events I will surely be missing out on.  I know I need to balance my desires for more time with beloved family and friends with everyone's need to get back to a normal life that understandably doesn't always include me.  But I admit - it is hard sometimes to put aside those selfish feelings, hard to fight back the frustrating tears when something doesn't go my way, hard to acknowledge that it isn't - it can't be - all about me.

Bitter tears aside - I recognize how fortunate I am to have all of you bearing the burden with me when I know it's not easy.  I see how so many of you have stepped up in unique ways to support me.  I appreciate that many of you have indulged my wants and needs, both large and small.  And most of all, I'm grateful for those of you who've had my back when I do get the occasional questioning of my decisions related to treatment and quality of life.  Yes - there's some bitter. But for sure plenty of sweet as well.

Blessings and Love to All.