by Band Back Together | Apr 12, 2015 | Anger, Anxiety, Breast Cancer, Cancer and Neoplasia, Denial, Depression, Faith, Fear, Hope, Love, Mastectomy, Stress, Trauma |
If you read my profile, you already know that I’m married 23 years with 2 teenagers; a daughter, almost 20 and son just turned 16. Four years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer, went through a double masectomy, chemo, radiation and reconstruction. I was in remission up until 3 months ago when it was discovered that the breast cancer has returned, in the lining of my stomach, treatable, not curable (1% chance).
This is not to be mistaken for stomach cancer – confusing right?
Needless to say I went through the depression, anger and shock all over again. Only this time it was harder. The optimistic goal of beating it wasn’t as easy to grasp because it had already returned once.
My meds have been changed, my doctor’s visits are more frequent and the side effects more intense. Hotter flashes, sleepless nights and mood swings. I am not always the easy-going, jovial Queen that used to rule this Kingdom. No, I often become that dragon you referred to in the Bands write-up. But I allow myself to breath some fire, release some anger, then I straighten my tiara and return to my throne surrounded by my adoring and supportive family, my riches, my strength, my motivation.
I could fall in the moat tomorrow and get gobbled up by… well whatever lives in moats. I’m not going to let this Cancer defeat me and takeover my Kingdom…
I know I will have bad days but I also know that I will get through them with a little help from my army (my friends and family) …
Today was one of those bad days and then, suddenly, you appeared!
The Band Back Together Project. Thank you for being here.
by Band Back Together | Mar 1, 2015 | Anger, Cancer and Neoplasia, Cancer Survivor, Caregiver, Coping With Cancer, Depression, Fear, Feelings, Guilt, Happiness, Romantic Relationships, Stress, Trauma |
Imagine being 21 and attending one of the most well-known public universities in the United States. You are studying something you love, having a blast with your girlfriends, and always on the lookout for a potential suitor. You’ve lost some weight and feel really great about yourself. You’re four months away from graduating (a semester early!) and starting your life.
Your future is at your fingertips.
And then you get slapped with your mortality and it feels like your world is crashing around you.
You have cancer.
You know what? Sometimes the chemo, the vomiting, passing out, and the ever-present thoughts of death wasn’t the worst part.
Sometimes, the worst part was sitting on your parents couch at twenty-one, wishing you were going out to that amazing party with all of your friends. Or watching your hair fall out in chunks in the shower. Your beautiful, personality-defining red hair just washing away down the drain. Or realizing part of your soul died when you asked your dad to shave your head because you just couldn’t watch the slow process of it falling out any longer.
Sometimes the worst part was looking at yourself in the mirror and just watching the tears stream down your face as you realized that this is your new reality. You are a twenty-one year old woman and you are bald.
Maybe the worst part was the steroids. Good God those things are evil. In a matter of weeks you transformed from that trim, vibrant woman that you were so proud of, into a bloated, chemotherapy-ridden sick person. You have that look of cancer and it crushes you.
And then there were those few moments where you felt good. You put on nice clothes, brush out your fabulous black wig and get ready for a night of normalcy. The drinks start to kick in, you start talking to a handsome guy. One thing leads to another, he leans in to kiss you and goes to put his hand on the back of your head…. and you freeze. Because you know the second he touches you he’s going to feel your wig. Your cover is blown, you are not one of the normal girls. And the last time I checked, most guys weren’t looking for a date whose chemotherapy schedule would have to be worked around.
So then you just stop going out. You realize this is temporary and it may not be fair, but it was the hand you were dealt.
You live with it.
You stop sulking.
Hair grows back.
Weight can be lost.
Love is still out there to be found.
The bars aren’t going anywhere and you can graduate next semester.
They caught it early.
You are going to be okay.
Other people have it SO much worse.
You will still get that whole wonderful life that you always dreamed about.
You are lucky fortunate blessed.
by Band Back Together | Feb 22, 2015 | Anger, Faith, Feelings, How To Help A Friend With Infertility, In Vitro Fertilization, Infertility, IUI, Jealousy, Stress |
I remember the day that we were finally diagnosed with unexplained infertility.
Unexplained infertility means that there’s nothing wrong with either one of us and no medical reason that we shouldn’t be able to have a baby. We spent so much time and money just to find out there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with us. Five years of trying, with not even one scare, and there nothing wrong.
After finding out we had unexplained infertility, we joked that we “just didn’t do it right,” but peel back the layers of joking, and you found a lot of ugliness. Ugly things like anger. And depression. And jealousy. Oh, and there was pain – lots of pain.
To find out that there was nothing actually wrong with us, but that medically it was still a problem was very frustrating. We had struggled with infertility for years.
We talked to our doctor about our options and I immediately began researching our situation and possible options and solutions. We could try to take fertility drugs that would make me produce several eggs in one month with the hope that the sperm would have a better chance of fertilizing one of them. Cheap and less than a 50/50 shot. We could do intrauterine insemination or in vitro fertilization. More expensive and even more expensive, and not much better odds.
All of those options frustrated and saddened us. We wanted to have a baby the old fashioned way. We didn’t want to “buy” a baby or have a baby “made” for us in a petri dish. We thought about it. We talked about it. I prayed about it.
We decided that fertility treatments were our only options at this point. For us, the “medicine” for having a baby was coming to terms with not only the fact that we’d never have a baby the old fashioned way, but also coming to terms with the fact that we wanted a baby so badly that we would do whatever it took to have one. The “medicine” was the love that we had for one another and our future family. The need to see what the two of us put together would produce. The need to get rid of the constant clouds hanging over our heads every month that passed where there still wasn’t a baby.
Two fertility treatments and three kids later, I’m so glad we decided to take the necessary steps to have a family. God gave us a bumpy, rocky road to travel down, but made it worth it. I am grateful and very humbled by the blessings that we have received.
I think of all of the other men and women still struggling with infertility. The ones that have done in vitro 5 times and still don’t have a baby. The ones that can’t afford fertility treatments. The ones that don’t even know yet that there’s a problem. I send my prayers and best wishes to them.
I know how hard the process was for us, and how hard it was to deal with every single day.
by Band Back Together | Feb 11, 2015 | Abandonment, Anger, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Compassion, Emotional Abuse, Estrangement, Family, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Sadness, Stress |
I dread the day, but I know it is coming. The day when she asks why she doesn’t know her grandpa, or if mommy has a daddy, or why grandpa doesn’t talk to mommy but he does talk to her uncle, or why grandpa doesn’t want to know her or love her. It is coming.
It would be so much easier to tell her he was dead. I wish I could say that were true. If it weren’t for the fact that he is still very much a part of my brother’s life, and the likelihood of her knowing that he does exist is high, I might have no qualms lying to her and telling her that grandpa is dead and gone. Because he is dead to me.
It will be six years in January since we spoke.
The angry phone call that started with me announcing our engagement and ended with him telling me “good luck with the rest of your life” was the last time I could feel the hate in his voice vibrating through my bones. After telling me he could never be happy for me and reminding me what a huge failure I was for marrying someone who doesn’t hunt or watch NASCAR or eat meat and has tattoos, the phone clicked and I knew that would be the last time I spoke to him.
At four months pregnant, I mulled over the idea of informing him about his future grandchild. I decided to do the responsible thing and write him a letter and tell him he is welcome to know future baby if he so chooses. Why I offered such a gracious peace offering to him is beyond me now. A month passed with no response and I assumed he just didn’t give a shit, which, he obviously did not.
When I received his three-page hate-letter, my heart stopped in my chest. All air escaped my lungs. The words I was reading were piercing, deliberate, familiar –filled with hate and such inconvenience– the way I felt my entire childhood under his rule. The words and filth and lies he wrote made me grateful to no longer know him. It made me realize that even though the choices I had made were difficult to make, and the process of breaking generational cycles felt like trying to run a marathon underwater, no one is destined for a life reflective of the one from which they came.
It really solidified the choices in life that I had made up to that point and showed me that I truly have been, and always will be, a better person than he could ever dream of becoming.
I know the day is coming, the day she asks who her grandpa is. If he isn’t dead by then, my only wish is to handle that conversation with truth, grace and compassion like a champ, in a way he never could.
by Band Back Together | Sep 12, 2014 | Guilt, Parenting, Sadness, Single Parenting, Stress |
My throat is sore from shouting. I am exhausted. I hate my life.
I never wanted children. My ex did, and as he always gets his way, we had a son and then a daughter. I love my children, but I don’t love being a parent.
I feel robbed of a life and my freedom. My ex loves getting high more than me or our children so I left him. I don’t regret this but I am annoyed as he can now do whatever he wants while I’m stuck here on my own.
I’m constantly dealing with their mess, stopping fights, and thinking of ways I can leave. I’m sick of not being able to do anything or have anything nice because they always destroy it.
I want to enjoy them, I just don’t know how.
I’m told this is my job and I should just accept that it’s not going to be the way I want, but it’s destroying me. I feel guilty for feeling this way, but I’ve been nothing but a full time mum for seven years, and I don’t think I can do much more. I’m selfish. A horrible mother.
by Band Back Together | Aug 11, 2014 | Marriage Problems, Stress |
You know, reading books and watching movies you often see the protagonist face a crucial decision. Would he or she become the large-hearted, generous person he or she should be? What would be the outcome of not doing so? What should he or she hold on to? What are the priorities?
And while they say “Fancy please, all I want is everything,” the real world is made of bleaker atoms than that.
Something has been disturbing my peace of mind, and while there isn’t much that I can do about it, there is much fretting that I can still do.
Let me pen portrait the background first. My hubby and his brother had a complicated upbringing (as is my perception of it). Both the boys grew up to be very different even though they have a very strong bond.
My husband is the diligent one. My brother-in-law is the happy-go-lucky one. Both of them have some complexes, and they are different. My husband is his mother’s baby. His brother is father-mushy.
My husband had a hard beginning in his career, but he is a saver. He never splurges more than his means, and always makes sure we are adding to the savings, even if they may be minuscule amounts. And I work. There are two incomes, and that makes the cushion stay.
My brother-in-law has worked at better places comparatively, and ended up living in a big city for a couple of years. The cost of living was high, and his lifestyle habits and demands of the city put a hole in the wallet. His wife stopped working after the first baby arrived. There was no cushion. They lived paycheck to paycheck, and with unexpected expenses shooting in, they looked to family to help them out.
I have never interfered with the monetary and other offers of help extended to the family.
When my sister-in-law got pregnant again, she chose ostensibly to not tell our side of the family till her sixth month (which has permanently dented my desire to communicate with her). During her last trimester she shifted to the hometown for the last stretch.
Then, my brother-in-law lost his job.
His wife was pregnant, and he knew that she will eventually deliver, but my brother-in-law did not pick up the tab of his wife’s labor and delivery charges. My father-in-law did.
And then he was pittied because he had lost his job. He too shifted back to the hometown and began looking for another job.
My sister-in-law stayed with her mum, and conveniently got the older child enrolled in the school that was a stone’s throw away. My brother-in-law lived with his parents, and both of them became bigger martyrs for not being able to stay together.
In the mid-2000’s, we had bought a duplex in our hometown. The next year we rented it out to a family. The rent we received helped us pay our home loan. We were lucky to have very nice tenants, and the same family still inhabits the house.
The house of my in-laws is ancient, and situated to the ill-convenience of everyone. Also, it has now become difficult to manage for my mother-in-law who doesn’t want to hire paid help for household work. My brother-in-law floated the idea of selling it and moving into a smaller flat, so that things would be better. My father-in-law asked for my husband’s opinion. My husband was against selling the property. He did not mind the move but did not want the parental home to be sold. His brother does not have the money to buy a flat on his own, and the idea died a natural death.
Now a new idea has mushroomed. Since my niece has now shifted to a senior class and the building is closer to our duplex. we will give up the rental income and my husband’s family will shift in. My brother-in-law said he and his wife would move in first and then a few months later, he would shift his parents with them.
I cannot change my husband’s decision to get the house vacated, but I made it very clear that the house was not meant to be occupied like this. I don’t want my husband’s brother to move in, unless my in-laws are moving in at the same time.
Now the entire burden of the loan payment will fall on us. My husband’s income is not consistent. We often spar on money related matters. I don’t need a crystal ball to see that he will eventually realize that the drain on him has increased and it will irritate him, even if he does not believe that his family has contributed to his stress.
I can’t make him remove his rose-tinted glasses for his family.
I know I have to let this go, and accept the change, but I am feeling selfish over handing the house to them. I am trying to find the frame of mind of being very generous, but I am struggling.
What would you do if you were in my shoes? Am I being too petty?
