The One in Which I Give Props to My Friend, HOPE

I'm playing my #cancercard liberally here as I find that my memory is declining a skoche <---(that's a real word that I learned from Steven, and I'd say to Google that Shit, but it took me some time just to find out how it really is spelled. What does it mean? How 'bout a smidgen?)  Anyway, my point is that sometimes I can't remember if I have already told some things to some people. I would be smashing as an Associate in the Department of the Redundancy Department, don't ya' think? (See, I think I already used that cheap joke sometime in a blog post here...#freepass. Hellooooooo! It's me. I have brain cancer. (#sorrynotsorry if I start an ear worm with Adele's latest breakout hit. Will you forgive me if I don't make another parody video and post on youtube? I thought so!)

Back to the point of all this. I know y'all or most of y'all know that I have been through a pretty shitty phase when I learned the MRI results showed disease progression. I wrote about it feeling like I had been punch in the stomach, but after some more processing, I think a better analogy is more like ...when someone a person (or dog) knocks you completely on your ass by running into your legs full-force. And at the moment, you have lost your ability to stand up, let alone walk away from where you are. After about a week or two of laying in bed and finding myself sobbing with what seemed to me like no new trigger. I was like stewing in a melange of sadness and anxiety.

I have been talking with a counselor pretty much since my diagnosis, and that's been super helpful. But my Self looked around at my crumpled tissues and lack of productivity for several days and declared, "We're gonna need a bigger boat." (Reference to scary movie of my day, Jaws. I've actually never seen the whole movie because I'm already afraid of sharks. True Story.) After some of this got really boring (and a little scary), I said, "Self? Self, I think you might be actually depressed. Self, I think you need more help."

As the first step, I reached out to my medical team and asked for a referral to a psychiatrist - very common for patients in my situation. Go figure! (Kiddies, I hear you saying "DUH!!" even if you're whispering it behind my back. I forgive you. You're right.)My new doctor prescribed a medication to help with my symptoms. Part of the problem wasn't just textbook "depression", but is insomnia because I couldn't stop my mind from spinning, thinking about what's going to happen next, and as you all know - that's a DANGER ZONE for someone in my situation. With the new meds? So far, so good.

I also said, 'Yo'! Self! You have an ginormous SUPPORT SYSTEM, and they are there to SUPPORT you. DUH! Reach out to someone! IDIOT!" This hit me while I sat in the CVS parking lot waiting while Steven picked up one of my many meds. So,  I picked up my phone and called one of my support system. I'll allow her anonymity - and say emphatically that just 'cause I did't call you, doesn't mean that I don't consider you part of my support system.

The person on the other end of this call...She is a fellow Warrior who battled Stage IV breast cancer. She had been where I am right now. We have the same sick gallows humor. BONUS! It sounded like we were talking a language that only we understood for the moment. She knew exactly what to say even though I blubbered in a way that she probably had NO IDEA what I had actually said. One thing that really popped like a bubble in my mind...she said, "You had a shitty, shitty week last week. Brush it aside and move on. You are starting a new week." Kiddies, if you are a caregiver for someone right now, take notes. Because that was magical. Acknowledgement and validation of my pain, fear, anxiety...wrapped in a big ball. And yet reminding me that you can move away from that. It can be different.

There I was, stuck in a hole, and she helped me out of that. Thank you, thank you, thank you Anonymous Warrior Friend! It reminds me of a TED talks video that my daughter once shared. It's a good one!

I've learned a huge lesson from this experience. I have so many lovely, supportive people in my life. Ask for help. Reach out for those hands . They want to help you through those hard times. So many people offered to help! But I'm used to being the helper, not the helpee. I guess I'm a slow learner.

Today is the best day I've had since that MRI Shock Day.  The worst part was that I've had a lingering feeling like I couldn't get back emotionally/mentally that I was before. The MFBCFNW. Where was the WARRIOR? Was she being a slacker? What was missing? Today I realized what I didn't feel: HOPE. Anyone slogging through these kinds of situations, has an old friend, HOPE.

Let me clarify this: I don't believe that having Hope when you diagnosed with a terminal illness is the same thing as Denial. Our old friend, HOPE, is the warm, reassuring friend that can embrace you when you need and say, "I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you." Today, I looked around and there was our old friend. It's like the personification of the positivity and love that my friends and family send to me through their thoughts and feeling. It flows to me and envelops me., embracing me with warm, reassuring arms, whispering, "I'm here. I"m always here for you. Don't forget that...No matter what anyone says, anything about statistics and odds and discussions about life spans...I'm here for you."

In my family , we have a tradition.(I think this comes from my maternal grandmother.) When someone is in a crappy situation, someone else might pat them on their head and say, "There, there." Sounds so simple, but in that small gesture and phrase you get: acknowledgement, validation, and the warm embrace of "I'm here for you."

I know it's complicated for someone who has never experienced the situation of being diagnosed with a terminal illness. I can't speak for everyone, but I will say for myself. I've been thinking a lot about what I really WANT so I can pass this along to you that are confused. If you want to help the ill continuing to feel HOPE, please don't act like their fate is a "done deal" - even if they are saying things like "I know I'm going to die..." Don't feed that part of their thinking. But the flipside is: don't say things like, "You've got this." or "You are going to beat this thing." I know, it's hard and counterintuitive. And again, I'm just speaking for mySELF, and I never said it all made sense.

So, what can you do or say?

• Hold them or pat them on the head and say:"There, there." or....
• "I'm here for you. I'll always be there for you."

It's very reassuring to know that our old friend, HOPE, is still there.

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Obligatory, gratuitous picture of my granddaughter, Autumn. She has been sick for over a week and still oh, so cutee!