A lot has been happening over the last few months. The chemo over the summer did not work. We discovered that I had tumours in my brain. I had radiation, another chemo, the pneumonia twice in a row. I keep hoping to go back on chemotherapy and start shrinking the tumours in my lungs, liver, bones, and the mass on my chest wall. However, I keep getting delayed, and I have been delayed, again. My oncologist is nervous of a tremor I have in arm and is going to have my head scanned to see if there is another tumour in my brain. If there's one tumour, it may possibly be treatable, if there's no tumours, great, if there's mulitple tumours, it's likely not treatable and all chemotherapy will be stopped. Treatment will have come to an end. I need to wait on a scan to know if I have the chance to continue treatment or if this is it.
Because it has come to this I have decided to make a huge fucking rant post. My sister said to me last weekend she rarely hears me complain, well, I'm about to.
I'm frustrated that Mike and I always seem to get the shaft and have to work triple hard just to get what others are given. Things like the wish vacation that we were sent on last January. Many were so happy for us and we were so excited. The entire week was stressful and upsetting for Mike and I. Yes, we can easily say that the kids had a blast, they did not have to deal with all the upsets that we had to constantly argue about, the problems that kept arising over and over again. The most relaxing time of the entire vacation for Mike and I was the flight from Turks and Caicos to Montreal. Everything else was a aggravated, disappointing mess. I was in tears there more than once. Not a worry free vacation at all.
And it's not just that. Constantly we go away and we end up with the hotel room that is falling apart. Our plans are destroyed and given no compensation or remorse from the parties involved. Oh, sometimes Mike and I can complain to the point of a slight rectification, but only if we're willing to fight, and it's always a fight.
I might be finding out tomorrow that I'm at the end of the line. I might not get to ever try to go on a real worry free vacation with my family now. I might be preparing for the "lasts": the last Christmas, the last birthday, the last summer vacation, if I haven't already passed that line. And I'm angry. I don't want it to be the end of the line. I don't want this to be all that is available, but it seems to be the way our lives go. Yes, I probably sound like I'm whining, but right now I don't fucking care.
I know, too, that I have had small fortunes sent my way. I have several friendships that have developed due to cancer that I would not give up for the world. Whether we speak only on Facebook or in person, I cherish these friends, dearly.
Honestly, I want to type more. I'll have to do a continuation. I'm too sore and the painkillers are not kicking in all the way yet. But for now you have my bitching notes. And I'm going to remind people that I don't want to respond to 500 "any news" messages, tomorrow. I post stuff when I'm ready
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