My life is full of pain, terror, heartache. I’m scared every three months at scan time. I’m angry about these seromas that kept coming back after two surgeries, it keeps growing, no one knows why - they keep saying “let’s just wait a bit and maybe it will absorb back in your body” but it doesn’t because it’s encapsulated. He struggles to wear his prosthetic because of the pressure it causes on the seroma which causes pressure on his nerves, particularly the sciatic. When he falls down I want to explode in anger and want to scream at the top of my lungs, seeing my beautiful man-child falling, getting hurt, and becoming exceedingly frustrated.
There are jokes among friends - “Irene’s crying again” and “Irene’s scared of everything” and I feel like I’ve locked myself up in my house for four years because I just can’t even. People say “you’re inspiring” which makes me feel like I must be lying about something because hiding in my cave and crying and being scared of everything, while every cell in my body hurts, certainly doesn’t seem inspiring to me.
I wake up every morning, cry, and have to immediately put a podcast in my ears to keep the dark thoughts at bay, so they don’t trap me for the rest of the day.
They won’t do anything else with the seroma if he’s still on Stivarga, as it prevents healing, which is a suspicion of why the seromas started in the first place. Can’t even drain them because it’s another poke in the skin that can get infected.
When the oncologist told us it’s been two years, he can start getting off the Stivarga, I burst into tears - it should be happy news. Atticus, who has seen me cry over really anything was even shocked at my reaction. The oncologist said, “she’s afraid your lung nodules will grow bigger”. I was surprised, but I’m sure her experience with cancer parents has made her become a bit of a mind reader.
I want him to get better but I’m scared the cancer in his lungs will get bigger or spread if he’s off the meds. But the meds aren’t great either, and maybe in a few months, he can have another surgery to try to excise the seroma again. I don’t know. No matter what it will be, it all sucks.
I’ve seen a lot of beautiful “cancer-free” or “last chemo” cakes, but one came with the comment to celebrate the small stuff too, even if treatment isn’t over. And so, even though I’m scared, I went to buy cake mixes to make a cake, and even store-bought frosting. Days went by because I felt I couldn’t even make a cake from a box, and finally sweet Ângelena came home after school and said we are gonna make the cakes.
Not the most beautiful cakes in the world, but with Ângelena’s motivation and me standing there, the cakes were done.
Celebrating the small stuff. Even if it’s just a “for now”. Celebrating and grateful he’s still alive.
And maybe, instead of letting the darkness grip my soul, I’ll try to keep celebrating the small stuff.
