The One in Which I Realized "I ain't got it."

This picture was taken on September 13, 2014. I already had a tumor in my noggin'. Isn't that freaky?

After I was diagnosed with GBM in September 2014 - after about two weeks of Steven and I feeling like we were adrift in a boat in the middle of the ocean -  we began to get our bearings. I began the process of recovering from my surgery, and we began to develop the plan for my initial treatments. In both the Los Gatos radiology department and at UCSF, they handed us a lot of papers and pamphlets offering resources to help us cope with the challenges ahead. I couldn't help noticing that Steven, as the caregiver, was being given a lot more more information than me --- ummm...excuuuuuuse me! I'm the one with brain cancer! I get it now. Being a caregiver to someone with such a serious illness is a grueling, relentless job.

In case you haven't gotten it yet, I have a pretty stubborn, Type A personality - in addition to having a potty mouth (BONUS!). It didn't take me long to get into that mode after the physical wounds started to heal. Tell me what I need to do, and I'm going to do it...to the nth degree. I was raised in a household in which Fremers didn't have headaches or stomach aches. (That's a true story. Ask anyone in my family.) I also inherited my father's analytical mind - break apart a problem, figure out the solution, and start plugging away. The more details you write down, the better, too! (Which actually turns out to be a good habit because one of my "cognitive deficits" is impairment of my short term memory - in other words, I suffer from CRS syndrome ....or Can't Remember Shit.)

I have my notebook for researching my Cancer and promising treatments. I have my notebook for planning my days purposefully to attend to my mind, body, and spirit - to do whatever I have control over to aid in my healing and survival. I usually seek support online when I need a community of like-minded people (shout out to my SAHMS - Woot! Stay at Home Moms whom I've known 21+ years), but the groups online for GBM are a major bummer filled with posts about "fallen warriors" and "angels who've gotten their wings". I respect their communities, and I know a lot of people get a lot out of it, but they leave me extremely depressed. Not helpful at all. I didn't pursue local support groups for the same reason.

For months, I was thinking, "I got this. I got this...." I am strong. I am brave. I'm a mother fuckin' brain cancer fighting ninja warrior!
but gradually, over the past few months, I've been feeling less and less certain. and more and more overwhelmed by my condition.

First of all, I can say without hesitation that my father was full of shit. #sorrynotsorry #freepass Fremers do, indeed, get headaches and stomach aches. Especially when they are receiving chemotherapy. Even the Queen of the Iron Stomachs. (If he wants to be a guest writer for this blog, I'm happy to give him the space to explain his side of the story. He is not ignorant nor stupid. This man has a PhD. and is still working full-time at 75 years old. He's not insensitive either. Maybe he's crazy? Just kidding, Dad! Love you! Xoxoxo! Near as I can tell, it was just to cut down on the whining of three young children over minor things.)

So, when I started to feel like maybe "I ain't got it!" it was a very unfamiliar feeling. And a very uncomfortable one, too. Maybe it was the gradual wearing down of my body and mind from the successive cycles of chemo? Maybe it's just....normal to have these swings in emotion when you have cancer. But I pulled out all the paperwork and made some phone calls and made appointments with a Social Worker and a Guided Imagery Facilitator. I met with the Social Worker on Monday. [By the way, I told her I owe her a whole box of tissues next time. I knew it was serious when she pulled her trash bin out from under her desk and handed it to me because I had too many used tissues to hold them anymore.]

I needed  - no, NEED help. Professional help. And I can't tell you how much it meant to just talk to someone about everything. From an objective and experienced perspective. One of the things that I remember her saying that helped a lot: (mostly because I felt like a stupid ass for not coming sooner) I said, "I thought I got this. You know?" She replied, "Well, you did have this. And then you didn't. And you asked for help, and you'll get back to feeling that way again." (She said a bunch of other reassuring and helpful things, too.)

And I stopped crying  (mostly) - and started smiling and laughing again. And it felt  - no, FEELS so good.