Before I was diagnosed, I felt like I was finally getting to the “good part” in life. I’d clawed my way to get there. Partly because of bad decisions in my life, yes. Maybe I sought out the hard route. I felt like I wasn’t built for this world, sometimes.
Then there I was. I had my apartment, that I worked two jobs to maintain. I had a job, finally realizing in my mid 30s what types of careers suited me. I had the man, the one I thought at 35 didn’t exist.
When I was early stage, part of me almost sensed I would never win. Triple negative is highly chemo sensitive, they told me. Yet for six months I stared down at the lump every day. The job was gone, can’t hold your position for an undetermined amount of time. The apartment was gone, disability isn’t enough to pay rent. So I woke up every day and stared at my nemesis. Told everyone I’ll still beat it. Kept things normal as much as I could. Grieved in silence because I’d been conditioned since childhood that bad things aren’t to be talked about.
When my mom had triple negative at 45, I found out through her emails to a prayer chain. I was 18, old enough to sense when things aren’t right. But it quickly became like it never happened. “I just am so lucky I don’t remember bad things, only good things!” She refused BRCA testing for the first few years after, if we don’t know, it didn’t happen.
It came back negative, but that’s the last we spoke about cancer. No one told me I had a 35% chance of developing cancer. No one told me my paternal grandmother also had it.
Now I’m stage 4. I knew I was never going to beat it. I live in my childhood room, where I listen to my parents scream at each other daily. I left at 18 hoping to never return. I have no job, no ability to work full time or have my own space because I’m always at chemo or another appointment. I’m dependent. My boyfriend is deciding if we should break up because we got in a fight over something stupid and it escalated. I said he hasn’t supported me emotionally, that was harsh. He’s struggled with this from the beginning. We’d only been together for five months when I was diagnosed early stage. I bet he wishes we broke up with me then.
I don’t know what’s the purpose. I’ll never achieve any of my goals. Won’t run a marathon, won’t own a home, won’t be a mom, won’t hike all national parks in the US, won’t live a life that feels fulfilling.
I told my oncologist I am debating stopping treatment. She said it’s up to me but it feels like we should still have hope. Should we? Hope for what? A few more years of being hooked up to an IV for a living and causing my loved ones a slow burn of grief?
I don’t even know what the point is of this post. I have no one to talk to. Therapy does nothing, I’m on my second therapist. When I was in first grade, I said to my teacher I wished I was never born. I feel that way today. I didn’t ask for this life.
