Crazy what can change in a month. That is how long it has been since I have written anything.

Not an easy post to write or share, but it’s real life right now.

The cancer is back. It has been back, but we, or at least they (I know better), thought it was one little spot that went away with the radiation. He was on some meds to help keep it from growing. Unfortunately, the side effects were terrible. Well, they were terrible for him to be able to care for himself. He lost his balance, and he couldn’t do much without being unable to continue standing up. He wouldn’t take that as an option and kept trying. Which, I get. But that meant he was falling a lot and getting hurt from those falls. He was also getting a buildup of potassium, which was causing these “spells” for lack of a better term. He would essentially become non-responsive and lose control of some bodily functions. He ended up back in the hospital for one of those spells, but they just sent him home. Then he fell badly, and we couldn’t get him up. He was weak, hurt his knee (later discovered he had cracked the patella), and was just in a bad way. After a visit and stay in the hospital, where they took him off the cancer meds to see if it helped with the issues he was having, they sent him off to rehab to heal his knee.

Taking him off the meds helped. The side effects, anyway. A couple of weeks ago, I went with him to his oncology follow-up for the most recent PET scan. Now, I want some credit. I didn’t cry when I was looking at those images and listening to the doctor talk about all the new spots, and the worsening of the one that they had “gotten rid of.” I sat there and helped him work through some options. I reminded him that not doing anything was an option, and one that I would help everyone else get on board with if it was what he chose. Because the thing is, there is no cure; it isn’t going away. The best we can do is put him back on meds that may or may not help to shrink and slow the spread. But, the meds that are most likely to help? The same ones he was already on. And there is no guarantee that the side effects won’t be worse this time around. And I couldn’t tell anyone. I was the only one who knew what we knew. He hadn’t told anyone when he looked at the results himself. He knew going into that appointment that it wasn’t going to be good news.

He still hadn’t made a choice, at least not that I know. But he has told the rest of the family. Well, he left it to me to tell the kids, but what else is new? So this is our new normal. He gets weaker every day while still refusing to believe that is happening, especially because he has a good day or two. And I keep working with the middle child to do all the things that need to be done for him and my mil.

The big problem with that? I have developed my own health issues. Kind of a big one that isn’t being taken as seriously as I wish it would be. I can’t stand/walk for long without excruciating pain and numbness spreading from my hip all the way to my toes. They have me in PT once a week to see if that makes it better, but it isn’t. I have to make those appointments on Saturdays so that the husband is home to take care of his parents while I’m at the appointment. I’m gaining back the weight I’ve kept off for almost three years because I can’t be active outside of the care I do for them and the rest of the family. I can’t go for a walk, I can’t work out.

I spend every day making sure everyone is taken care of while crying in pain in my car, and when I get to my room at night. I have to cook dinner for 4-7 people while sitting in a chair, because I can’t stand for that long. And I know, I am very aware, that this is/has been people’s entire lives. Which makes me feel guilty every time I complain. At the same time, I wonder if it will ever be time for others to care for me instead of me hurting myself to care for them. That isn’t fair. My kids have been stepping up where and when they can. But sometimes they do it in a way that makes me feel guilty for even asking for help. I always promised myself I wouldn’t do to my kids what my mom did to me. And I’m trying really hard not to. However, because of the home situation, because of the health and needs of the others in the house, I need help. If I could concentrate on my health, then I wouldn’t be in need of so much other help. That isn’t reality, though.

Reality looks like me pushing wheelchairs, cooking, cleaning, wiping asses, running errands, and anything else they need, before I can take care of myself.

So, I’m not writing. I’m not doing much of anything. By the time my day ends, I can only fall into bed and hope the pain ebbs enough that I can sleep so I can do it all again the next day.

Anyways, if you’re still here, thanks. I’ll try to get back to writing and all the other things that keep me sane soon.