SOS

Results from last week's scan indicated increased metabolic activity at the original site (vaginal cuff) as well as in the liver.  An icing on the cake of this news was that there is also a new spot on the right lobe of the liver. So that means (drum roll please)  MORE CHEMO!!  Same Old Shit. Trying new drug combo this time.  Honestly not sure if that means I've hit the point of the body's resistance to the drugs I was on, or if the doc figured out that the first combo platter just wasn't the right choice; I will likely never know, since straight answers are hard to find.

Again wondering if I'm ever going to get used to hearing this type of news. I always have hope; there are always "signs" of healing/improvement that are apparently a mental game I'm playing on myself. Does that hope go away after being kicked in the teeth a given number of times?

This particular call came as I was riding in the car on the way home from a short and restless vacation/getaway, which means my family got to hear the news with me.  It was a somewhat horrific scene, which I would have played differently if the fam wasn't within earshot of one side of the conversation. Almost immediately after I conveyed an abbreviated version of the news delivered by my doc's nurse, my strong and fiercely independant teenager started sobbing and repeating "you can't leave; I NEED you" which is enough to break any mother's heart in two. 

The conversation continued later that night in the safety of her bedroom, and again the phrases "I need you" and "dad needs you" kept coming up. And while I tried my best to dissuade the notion that our lives revolve around me, the truth was hovering in the room.  When your immediate family is a threesome, losing one of the three is is bound to have a major impact that I cannot control. And while I mutter comforting statements designed to relieve the fear of the unknown, my heart is ripping in half because I know that I may very well not be here to make sure she finishes high school with good grades and good friends.  I may not be here to do everything I can to make sure she gets a good SAT score and gets into a college of her choice.  I won't be able to influence the type of men she dates; I won't be able to help her get ready on her wedding day.  All of it rips up my guts, but I smile bravely and tell her everything will be OK.

Them or me?

No medical news, and tired of talking about it anyway...so I find the other thing most frequently rattling around in my semi-functional brain lately is how to help others deal with my illness.  Which, by the way, is still just so damn weird.  I look fine (as fine as an overweight, middle aged bald chick can look), I feel fine (when chemo hasn't kicked my ass), so can't we just ignore the looming dark cloud?  Speak around the elephant in the room? 
Not to mention, it's really easy to get sucked into a focus on ME, ME, ME.  After all, I'm the one dying here--can't the rest of the world bend over and kiss my ass please?

It's a struggle to remember that those around me, at least the ones who really care about me, are hurting too.  I try to get inside their head and figure out--are they really dealing with it?  Or are they pretending its not happening?  Do they think about what life will be like without me in it?  Is there sadness?  Anxiety? Or do they fly through the days focusing on other things so they don't have to think about it? 

It's like this huge task called "Helping Other People Deal" is out there--waiting for me to take it on.  But I don't have the energy.  Or the skills.  I don't know where to start.  And why do I have to do this anyway?  Can't you figure out how to do it on your own for once?  Do I have to do everything around here?