Numb

It’s been 7 months since I published a post on this blog.

It’s been about a month and a half since my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.

I have never experienced someone this close to me going through something of such magnitude. I have watched my mom be devastated by news, poked and prodded, undergo procedures and surgery, and feel like she has little to no control over herself or her livelihood. She was brave and made strong decisions, choosing the right surgeon, giving her body the proper nutrition, and determining which surgery would provide her with the best peace of mind. July 1st 2021 was one of the hardest days of my life. I did not sleep at all the night before dropping mom off at 5am for surgery. Due to COVID restrictions, I was not allowed to physically be in a hospital waiting room, I would not be able to see her until she was moved to her hospital room for recovery. I spent the day in a delirious haze, trying and failing to distract myself, wincing as I looked at my phone and only 5 minutes had passed. My mind went to the worst possible outcomes, my fear felt overwhelming, and I just wanted my mom. I wanted to see my mom, be with her and know that she was okay. I finally got the call that she did well through surgery and was being moved to recovery. I went to the hospital immediately and stayed with her through the night. It was hard there and hard once we came back home to watch her frustration at needing my help to do little things, or being restricted to the bed, or worried about recovery. Thanks to loving friends and family, we had more support than ever, warm meals and sweet cards to pass the days, and July 9th came quickly. The morning of July 9th we had a follow-up appointment where our surgeon, who had previously said that my mom’s lymph nodes were negative and clear of cancer during surgery, and that there was a 1/1 million chance they would come back positive after being viewed under a microscope, told us that 1 of her 3 removed lymph nodes was positive. My heart broke as my mom’s face fell yet again. As our steps became more numerous and difficult yet again. As the words “radiation” and “chemo” were used. Her tumor has been removed and we are in a better place than we were a couple of weeks ago, but it feels hard to accept that. It feels like the only thing to focus on is that we haven’t won yet. It hasn’t been beaten yet. Until we are able to meet and talk with oncology, we won’t fully know what our next steps will be.

It feels like I was on a cruise ship and out of nowhere it became the Titanic, and now I’m hanging onto the overturned floating door for dear life. I was so quick to complain about my life before my mom’s diagnosis, and now I’d do anything to go back. This cancer was within her body for years, so it is good that it was discovered and treated now, but I know how badly she wants to feel normal, whole, healed. She wants this to be over. I want this to be over for her. I am having to actively work at not being sad. At focusing on what we have, not the what ifs. But it is really really hard. Everyday I feel how easy it would be to just curl up and wallow. I don’t really feel connected to much right now. It’s hard to watch social media posts of seemingly happy people and events and feel like I have none of that. It’s hard to smile. And it’s hard not to feel mad at or sad with the Lord. I know that I am being taught to trust and give up control through this, as is my mom, but I deeply hope the testing, the pressing, will be over soon. I am praying desperately that in a few month’s time, a year, or two, or five, my mom will be completely healed and we will look back on this time from a better place.

The morning of mom’s surgery, I witnessed the most beautiful sunrise. I am rarely up early enough to see a sunrise, and I needed that one. It reminded me that His mercies are new every morning, great is His faithfulness. Now more than ever, I’m trying to remember to feel joy where I can, to see how beautiful and precious each day is, and to fight the desire to shut down.

I have wrestled with the idea of blogging again for a while now, months and months. I wish it didn’t take this event for me to find the desire, but here I am. I need to Pour Out now more than ever. I need to let myself feel things and name them. I need to be honest about how deeply I am aching and breaking.

July 11th 2021. I greatly hope I reflect on this post in the future, with a smile on my face.