Monday, November 4, 2019
I am having trouble picking an idea to write about today. That is an unusual problem for me. I am usually bursting with ideas and, as I have mentioned previously, if I have trouble writing about my idea, I simply write the idea down and come back to it when I feel like writing. Today, my idea factory is closed. I think something I did yesterday led to the closure of my idea factory today.

On November 1, 2019 I started posting my daily journal pages on a blog I created for that purpose. I write every day, however I am posting to the blog every other day, so I do not get stressed if I am sick for a few days and cannot write. Yesterday, I posted the link to my first blog post on my Facebook profile.

I honestly did not think my post would get any traction. I do not like Facebook. I quit reading my Facebook feed more than five years ago and very rarely post on my personal profile. Facebook wants to think for me, and I do not play that game. Because I so rarely post to my profile and Facebook uses their algorithms to show users what Facebook thinks is relevant to those users, I figured three of my friends might see my post.

I was wrong. I received a few comments on that post from the people who saw it. Then Facebook, in its infinite wisdom, decided that since the people who had seen the post interacted with it, the post should be shown to more of my friends. Those friends made comments. I think the algorithm is finished torturing me, but I had to read all those comments. I usually only need to deal with Facebook comments on my birthday and fortunately that is only once a year (unfortunately my birthday is in two weeks).

What is wrong with Facebook comments, you wonder. When people comment on my profile posts, I feel obligated to read them and respond. The comments Sunday were not my annual, have a great day posts I get on my birthday. No. These were heart-felt, you mean so much to me messages. I was not ready for the onslaught.

Yesterday I was still in Angry Susanne mode which is a heightened emotional state and all those thoughtful comments brought water to my eyes and I had to work hard to keep the water from falling out. There were so many kind words I felt overwhelmed. And, the comments kept coming. I shut off Facebook so I could get a grip.

This morning there were more comments thanks to that horrible Facebook algorithm. So, once again, I needed to face an onslaught of emotions. Angry Susanne mode has passed, so it was easier today, however I am exhausted. My little stoic brain has been battling the sadness those lovely comments tried to bring me for 24 hours. 

I plan to live in the denial (but prepare) stage of grief until the end and each one those kind, beautiful, thoughtful comments was like a movie in my head. I know Julie Davis was crying when she wrote her note to me and I could see her crying in my head. I could feel the love oozing from Liz Kettle’s words and I could feel the hug she was giving me. Those feelings make this situation real and I am not ready to be real.

My piece of advice to you is jump in even if you are not ready. I was emotionally overwhelmed by the response to my post. I will still post my next blog on my personal Facebook profile. Each of the upcoming comments will hurt me a little. Those little pinpricks of pain now will help shield me when real life rears its ugly head and denial is no longer an option.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Sunday, November 3, 2019
I googled the five stages of grief the other day for fun. The five stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I thought I would cruise the whole way on mostly denial and a little bit of acceptance. I accept the knowledge that I will die, but it is not likely to be next week so I can deny it will ever happen.

I cannot image bargaining will become a stage of grief for me. Who am I going to bargain with? My doctor? He can only do so much, and we have already discussed I want to live as long as I can for my seven-year-old, Mika. We have discussed quality of life. Am I willing to continue on if I feel miserable? I do not know (at this time) why bargaining is a stage of grief.

I do not think depression will become a stage of grief for me. I am too busy and too positive to become depressed. That is easy for me to say now when I am healthy. My attitude may reverse when my quality of life starts to suffer. Depression is sneaky and may even be able to crack my hard shell.

Anger has definitely started to grab a hold of me. I wrote a post a few days ago that was a rant about our health-care system. I was angry when I wrote it. Last night I had an argument with my significant other, Donald, that left me very angry. I have cooled off today, however I can still feel my anger simmering under the surface (not toward him). That is not a common feeling for me.

Yesterday morning, Mika and I were recording a video for her YouTube channel and I needed to move my small stack of unopened mail and a box off my table. I told Mika to put the items on my bed. When it was time to go to bed my stack of mail was missing. Donald looked in my room and we found the mail in my trash can. Donald pulled out a few pieces of mail and put the trash can back. I got mad.

I could still see my voter book in the trash, and I had not filled out my ballot. I told him to give me the trash can so I could dig out my mail, and he complained about the fact that I had unopened mail at all. I lost it. I reminded him that he does not open my mail with me when he gives it to me, so I put it in a pile until the next day my helper comes to open my mail with me. He then accused me of blaming him for Mika accidently throwing away my mail.

When I yelled at Donald I was not blaming him, he told me to stop getting emotional. I stopped talking at that point. I had reached angry truth level. I have never understood people who get angry and say things they do not mean. When I reach angry truth level, every single word I say is unvarnished truth. Nobody ever wants to hear unvarnished truth.

That was the most sexist comment Donald has ever made to me. It is fine for him to get angry and yell, but if I get angry and yell, I am emotional. His mouth needs to be washed out with soap. I could have let the argument escalate, however the words that would have come out of my mouth would have hurt him deeply and he has enough to deal with without me telling him how I think he should be dealing with it.

My piece of advice to you is feel the anger, but do not allow the anger to consume you. I have noticed I am a little teary the past few days. That is probably my anger working its way to the surface. Sometimes you need to acknowledge that grief is simply grief and you may need a good cry.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Saturday, November 2, 2019
I was watching an episode of New Amsterdam online when I saw a scene that has played out many times in my life. A woman who was in an automobile accident has just been told her friend, who was hurt in the accident, is about to go into surgery and might die. The woman asks the doctor to pray with her. He replies that he is not really the most prayerful of guys. She looks at him intently and he agrees to pray with her.

As recently as two weeks ago I have been asked, “May I pray with/for you?” by random people I have never met. I believe people have the best intentions when they ask me, so I always say yes. I am not a religious person and have not prayed by myself since I was 18, however I understand how important a higher power is to so many people and I am always willing to put more positive energy out in the world.

When a friend asks to pray with or for me, I never question their motives. I know there are hundreds of people I have met who have mentioned me in their prayers, either to ask for a miracle cure or for me to have more time with my seven-year-old, Mika. These people love me and wish the best for me. I am thankful for their prayers.

When a random stranger asks to pray with or for me, I think they pity me. No one ever stopped me and asked to pray for me when I could walk. Why does a wheelchair change that? Why would someone think I need to be prayed for simply because I use a wheelchair? I am thankful for these prayers, even though I think their motives are misguided.

When I was in the rehabilitation hospital after my accident, a few people told me my accident was a part of God’s plan. I told them in no uncertain terms that God did not do this to me; my own stupidity did. I told them if God had anything to do with my accident it was to make sure I kept breathing afterward, because it took rescuers almost an hour to get me out of my pickup.

I may not be religious, but I have read the bible more than once. Satan did all those horrible things to Job, not God. If there is a God, he or she has better things to do than cause me to fall asleep while driving. I am perfectly capable of doing that on my own. God may have woke me up in time to avoid hitting that tree head on so I was only paralyzed, not dead.

I did not find a relationship with God when I went through rehab, although I saw many people who did and were better for that relationship. I took responsibility for my actions and did not feel I needed divine guidance to do so. I do not expect to find a relationship with God as I go through my exceptional exit plan (although I googled the stages of grief and bargaining is one of them so who knows) because I am okay with dying.

Being okay with dying does not mean I am not afraid. I am not afraid for me; I am not going to know I am dead. I am afraid for those I leave behind.

My piece of advice to you is to connect with a higher power if that is what your soul craves. My 24-year-old, Megan is still looking to strengthen her connection to God, and I hope she is successful in her endeavor. Our souls need to be nourished and God is pretty good at that.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Friday, November 1, 2019
Last night was Halloween and I was on trick-or-treat duty. I do not usually trick-or-treat with my seven-year-old, Mika. Trick-or-treat duty usually falls to her older sister, Megan. But, alas, Megan is still in Georgia helping on a movie set. That left Mika’s dad, Donald and me to arm wrestle to see who would need to brave the cold and take Mika trick-or-treating. I immediately conceded and grabbed my hat and coat.

Until yesterday I had trick-or-treated with Mika once. In 2016 it was 78 degrees on October 31st. Megan took Mika out trick-or-treating for about an hour and then I took Mika out for an hour. I did not even need to wear a coat. It was awesome. Last night, not so much. It was cold.

I know Mika is not a die-hard trick-or-treater, so we started early. At 5:15 we rolled out the door. We left Donald with the candy and not candy treats and started our adventure. It was still daylight because we started early, and we could see a few of our neighbors were home so we started on our street. It was nice to see our neighbors and they all waved to me out in the street, because it was still too snowy for me to try to get close to doors.

We all know from experience that we only get about ten kids on an average Halloween in our neighborhood, so everybody gives a big handful or two of candy for each kid. When I am on door duty at my house, I put a table by the door with the candy and not candy treats spread out and tell the children to pick four. After five houses on our street, Mika already had a lot of candy in her bag. We walked over to the street Mika’s best friend lives on and stopped at houses along the way.

Mika’s best friend had been spirited away at the last minute to celebrate Halloween with her dad out of town, but we still know many people on her street because we walk this way to school. Mika cleaned up. We were only to the second block on this street when Mika said her bag was full enough and it was time to go home. We were home by 7:00 p.m.

We had eight trick-or-treaters this year. Donald was crazy enough to buy four bags of candy, so we have dessert until February (or until Megan eats it all when she gets back this weekend). The bag of not candy has been repacked to use again next year. Fortunately, diecast cars, crayons, and activity books last year after year.

I had a great (cold) time trick-or-treating with Mika this year. We went long enough to have fun, but not long enough for Mika to complain much. Mika did hang her candy bag on my wheelchair for the walk home, because it was too heavy for her to carry.

My piece of advice to you is to quit saying “not it”. I am sure if Megan was in town, she would have taken Mika trick-or-treating and I would have been on door duty. Next year I am not so sure. I did not think once yesterday that this might be my last Halloween with Mika, however I am thinking that today. I am planning to live for at least three years, but I could be completely wrong.

I may not respond to any available treatments and die within a year. I need to start treating every occasion as if it is my last and hope to have ten “last” Halloweens. Next year I will probably insist on trick-or-treat duty. What is a little cold compared to Mika’s cheers when she gets a candy she really likes?

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Thursday, October 31, 2019
We enjoyed two school snow days this week. My seven-year-old, Mika, did her happy dance both times I told her school was closed on Monday and Wednesday. My significant other, Donald, actually needed to shovel snow at our house. If we could figure out a way to attach a plow to my wheelchair, I could clear the snow.
 
Donald worked for two hours before they sent him home Monday and had Tuesday and Wednesday off due to weather. Donald builds commercial HVAC systems and the building they are working on is not heated yet. They are currently hanging the duct work on this job and it has been too cold for the sealants to set properly.
 
Donald called his boss yesterday and got the rest of the week off because his mother’s legs have been going numb and she fell and ended up in the hospital. They found a benign tumor on her spine that was causing the numbness and yesterday she had spinal surgery. The prognosis is good, she could feel more parts of her body after surgery than before and Donald is at the hospital again to keep her company.
 
I am going to have to complain about our health system today (Angry Susanne is taking over). Donald’s mom has been having numbness in her legs for a few years now. She sold and moved out of her home and into an assisted living facility last month because she could not walk up and down her stairs anymore. Even walking on a flat surface was getting difficult. Why did it require a fall for a scan of her spine to be ordered?
 
I am sure her situation was just like my cancer. Her tumor was found by accident when they were looking for internal damage from her fall. She could end up able to walk and traverse stairs perfectly for several more years. She may have sold her house because of medical incompetence or insurance red tape.
 
I am absolutely certain my cancer started manifesting itself in September 2015 and I was hospitalized several times in the three years until they found my cancer in August 2018. Every time I went in the hospital I asked for an MRI. Every time I was told they could only do a CT scan because insurance would not pay for an MRI because it would be a diagnostic procedure, not an emergency treatment procedure.
 
Seriously? I cannot have a diagnostic procedure done during a hospital stay? I am at the hospital to have them fix what is wrong with me. How can they fix me if they cannot determine what is wrong with me? I have a death sentence now. If an MRI had been done the first time I asked in December 2015, my cancer may have been caught in time for me to live to be 100 and torture my children.
 
When I met Dr. Doom and Gloom for the first time and told him I hated food, he told me that was a common sign of ovarian cancer. I had been telling doctors for three years I hated food, and nobody would (or could due to insurance stupidity) act upon that knowledge. And now, here I am thinking about my mother-in-law and wondering how many millions of other people this happens to.
 
My piece of advice to you is do a better job of fighting for your medical rights than I did. My cancer was found when an MRI was finally ordered (at the end of August 2018) to look for bone infection because I had two pressure wounds so deep the doctors had to do a surgical debridement at the hospital and now my MRI was an emergency treatment procedure.
 
You know when something is not right with your body. Do what you need to do. Your insurance company is not your friend. They simply want you to die so they do not need to pay any more claims.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Wednesday, October 30, 2019
On Saturday, my significant other, Donald, my seven-year-old, Mika, and I took advantage of the last warm day of the year (probably) and went to a place called Wishing Star Farm. The farm is located in Ellicott, which is a small town about 25 miles southeast of Colorado Springs. I have lived in Colorado Springs for more than 25 years and do not think I have ever been to Ellicott.
 
When I was a child, I would have considered Ellicott (with its 1,100 population) to be a large town. I was raised in a town with a population of 500. What I found interesting is that the farm is right in the middle of town. I do not remember a farm being in the middle of any of the small towns I frequented in Nebraska as a child. We used to have a farm Colorado Springs grew around, but pollution killed it.
 
Wishing Star Farm appears to be a working farm which has capitalized on their great location by creating a small amusement park. The farm is not a high-tech amusement center, it had basic activities that children (and some adults) love.
 
Wishing Star Farm had a petting zoo, of course, and all the activities related to the farm. They had bins that looked like large kid’s swimming pools with about ten inches of corn kernels in the bottom. I did not see the appeal, however there were always kids in the bins and the kids (including Mika) seemed to really like it. I guess the corn bins are like a ball pit.
 
Wishing Star Farm had a lawn tractor with a few train cars behind it for train rides, a collection of playhouses that appeared to be made from large liquor barrels, and a hay slide. The slide itself was not hay like the hay piles I used to slide down when I visited my grandparent's farm, but it was a very large stack of hay bales set to be steps and a large section of irrigation pipe for the slide.
 
Wishing Star Farm had a pedal karts track, duck races, tire jungle, roping dummies, tire swings, corn hole, horseshoe pit, and bean bag tic-tac-toe. They also had pony rides and you could pick a pumpkin; however, you pay extra for those activities. It reminded me of my childhood.
 
Mika’s favorite activity was the jumping pillow. The jumping pillow was a very large, inflated rubber pillow which could easily accommodate 50 children at once. Mika spent at least half the time bouncing on that pillow. Her favorite bouncing time was later in day when a large man got on the pillow. He would let the kids know when he was going to jump, so they could gather around him to be knocked over by the double bounce.
 
Since Donald was part of this adventure, at about three hours in he was ready to call it a day. We loaded my wheelchair back onto the back of the truck and headed home. Donald did have fun pumping water for duck racing with Mika and pushing her on the tire swings, but the other activities that were grown-up inclusive did not interest Mika such as corn hole or horseshoes.
 
The view of the mountains on the ride home was spectacular! We could see so many mountains. Ellicott is farther east (and farther away from the mountains) than Colorado Springs. You can see triple the number of mountains from there than Colorado Springs, however you cannot see the mountains from everywhere like here.
 
My piece of advice to you is to take advantage of the weather when it is to your liking. Build a snowman when it snows and take a walk (or roll) when it is warm.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Tuesday, October 29, 2019
This past July, I had a three-point connection with two women who are also members of one of the business-women’s networking groups I belong to. I know them both as much as I know most of the women in my networking groups. I like them and talk to them at events, but I do not socialize with them. I am not much of a casual social person and my significant other is even less so. You are not very likely to get a dinner invitation at the Whited’s unless you are a friend of our seven-year-old, Mika.

The two women and I had a great conversation, because we already knew a little bit about each other. One of the women, Betsy, is the person responsible for booking the speakers for our monthly networking group’s lunch. The past few years we have had one of our local members speak at our January lunch and the rest of the year, except December, we have speakers from out of town. At the connection, Betsy asked me if I would want to be this coming year’s local speaker.

You would think my answer would have been an immediate, “Yes.” I was ready to get this cancer thing behind me and start rebuilding my business, speaking to our group would be an amazing opportunity. Instead, I said, “Let me get back to you in a few weeks.” I told her my post-chemotherapy appointment with Dr. Doom and Gloom would not be for a few weeks and I wanted to make sure I had a good prognosis.

I let Betsy know at out August lunch that I was available to be our local speaker if she still wanted me. Betsy let me know there were a couple of other contenders for that spot and she would let me know when she finalized the schedule. Before the lunch started earlier this month, Betsy told me they had decided not to have a local speaker this year, because they had gotten a great selection of out-of-town applicants that matched up really well with the responses on the member survey asking what type of speakers we wanted.

Betsy wanted to make sure I did not take the rejection personally. I thought she knew me better than that. I assured her I would not be going home to cry in my Corn Flakes later that day. Then, in the middle of the event, I dropped my bombshell. I have a terminal cancer diagnosis. Betsy came to me after the lunch and said she would figure out a way to get me in next year’s speaking lineup (dying has its privileges).
 
At our December event, instead of a single speaker, we usually have a drawing in November and choose four members to speak for five minutes each. The speaker drawing is a fundraiser and you put in $20 and your business card. I did not enter last year, because I was too sick. I did enter the two years before last year and was chosen both times. I have recordings of those two, five-minute talks on my YouTube channel. The talks are titled, What Is Your Statistic? and The Best Gift of All.
 
Betsy came back to me and said she could give me ten minutes in December to speak. I told her, “No.” I was concerned that I would be starting new chemotherapy and possibly be sick. Then I thought about the exceptional exit plan I was implementing and decided it was a message that needed to be heard. I told her I would be happy to speak for ten minutes in December.
 
My piece of advice to you is to say yes! I finished writing my talk on Saturday and read it out loud for the first time yesterday morning while Mika was sleeping. The part where I talk about Mika choked me up and I almost cried as I said the words (even as I write this). I will still deliver that talk. I have six weeks to break those voice tremors out of me. The talk will be recorded, and I will post it on YouTube so others can hear my message. If I break down in tears of sadness in the middle, the whole world can see I am human after all.

Until next time,
Susanne

P.S. Here is the link to watch the video of my talk If I Die Today.

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Monday, October 28, 2019 
Friday, I decided it was time to record my first video for my seven-year-old, Mika, to watch after I pass. I have been trying to give myself the time to think about her life without me, without me tearing up. The video message could be a twenty-second clip -- if I stretched it out. I thought I could handle twenty seconds without turning into a sobbing mess.
 
Mika and I have a ritual. She will say, “Mom?” and I will say, “What!” (usually exasperated because she has just asked me tons of questions) Mika will reply with, “Do you know I love you?” (now I feel bad because I used a curt tone) I then say, “Yes, I do know you love me, thank you.” Then I reverse it. “Mika?” “Yes?” she replies. “Do you know I love you?” She always says yes, but never thanks me. If I forget to say thank you, she reminds me. Go figure.
 
I was finally ready to start the most important part of my exceptional exit plan, recording video messages for my family. I positioned my webcam, moved into a good position, and started talking to Mika. “Mika, do you know I love you? Because I do.” I blew a kiss and said, “I love you, baby girl.” Video message done. No tears!
 
I then pushed replay. I was a little too far from my computer for my microphone to pick up my voice well so I will need to record it again. I do have a Bluetooth microphone that I can use with my video camera. I bought it to get better audio when I recorded me speaking at events.
 
I do not know if I will be able to use the wireless microphone with my computer. My helper will be here Wednesday (unless we have a snow day, which may happen because we are currently being blasted with a super cold, snowy weather pattern for a few days) and we will discover if I have a port on my computer to plug in the microphone’s receiver.
 
If I am unable to use my wireless microphone with my computer, I will try to use my mini tripod and video camera. I could set the tripod on the table in front of my computer monitor, turn the viewfinder around so I can position myself, and the video camera microphone is strong enough I would not need to use the wireless microphone. This method will also require testing to make sure I can turn the viewfinder around.
 
The other possible problem with using my video camera is camera storage and battery life. I am not able to plug the video camera into my computer to charge it or download my files. Mika can plug the video camera in to be charged, but she does not know how to place the camera in download mode. Her sister can teach her once she gets back from her trip next week, however right now the only person who knows what to do to download files is my helper.
 
If I discover I am fighting with Mika for video camera storage, I can still use my webcam with my headset microphone. My headset microphone is my last resort, because I would rather leave videos in which there are not any distractions from my message. I should have a functional video message plan by next week (unless my helper gets snowed out both Wednesday and Thursday).
 
My piece of advice to you is go with the flow. My first method for recording my video messages struck out. I quickly came up with Plan B, Plan C, and Plan D. Plan D is my least preferred method; however, it is the message that matters, and I will use Plan D if necessary. Leaving an imperfectly executed message is so much better than not leaving a message at all.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Sunday, October 27, 2019
I called my mom to tell her about my short life expectancy last night. I did not cry or even get choked up like I did when I told her I had cancer last year. She did not either. We are both women with a strong grip on our emotions. When I apologize for being a bad daughter who rarely calls, she reminds me the phone works both ways and she rarely calls me.

I quit crying when I was 10 or 11. I remember the incident well. We had gotten the Montgomery Ward Christmas catalog. It was the most amazing book full of pages and pages of toys. Every year the Christmas Wish Book was every child’s dream book. I had poured over every inch of that magazine again and again marking a list of the toys I could not live without. I made a list of approximately $225 worth of toys including the Barbie Dream house and many more Barbie toys.
 
I was sure when we drove to the town that had a Montgomery Ward the next time, my parents would buy me everything on my list. I do not know why I thought so. I knew our family was poor, but to my knowledge we always had what we needed so my parents could buy me what I wanted. Never mind that minimum wage was less than $3.00 per hour and it would take two weeks to earn that money. Never mind that amount was probably more than my parent’s mortgage payment. Never mind they had six other children with wants. My parents were obligated to give me exactly what I wanted.
 
I was so excited the day we drove to Montgomery Ward. I was finally going have my Barbie dreams come true. I do not remember what my parents purchased that day. I do remember what they did not purchase. Not even one toy for me, let alone $225 worth. I threw a fit; I cried all the way home. Did my parents realize their colossal mistake, turn around and make the hour-long drive back, and buy my happiness? No.
 
I decided that day that crying did not accomplish anything, and Spock was right; emotions are illogical. I did have a lapse once when I was 18 and got dumped by a boy, but it was brief. I did decide that love is an appropriate emotion since I was 11, however crying is still a no-no.
 
When I was at the rehabilitation hospital after my automobile accident, I did not cry. I was working toward going home to be with my family. I was too busy adjusting to my new reality to feel sad. A busy mind is a happy mind and my mind runs at warp speed. I convinced the doctors to let me go home with less than three months of rehab.
 
Five months later I was lying in a hospital bed being told I would die. I did not cry. For six months I was in a hospital with several 102-degree fevers every day. I had twice-a-week surgeries for a gaping hole in my body, and the doctors kept telling me I would die. I still did not cry. I had a femoral head removed and packed with antibiotic beads. The fevers stopped. The antibiotics were finally working! I was transferred back to a hospital in Colorado Springs from Denver so they could start transitioning me home. I was elated.
 
Eight days after the fevers stopped, I got a fever. I laid in that hospital bed crying for a very long time. I was devastated. I was not cured. I was not going home. I have never considered it a weakness when I cried that night. By releasing my profound disappointment at that time, I was able to move forward. I was not cured, but the tide had changed. I started growing more new tissue than the doctors were removing surgically. The doctors quit telling me I was going to die. Seven months later I was finally home again for good.
 
My piece of advice to you is to cry if you need to. That one night in the hospital I needed to cry. I am still fighting crying now by executing my exceptional exit plan, however grief may yet win, and I will need tissues.

Until next time,
Susanne

Please check out my GoFundMe page.

Saturday, October 26, 2019
I have a delivery problem. I tend to be very blunt when talking to people and I like people to be straight with me; I do not want any sugar coating. That is why I like Dr. Doom and Gloom, he basically told me any method he prescribed to treat my cancer would kill me the first time I met him. I was in very bad shape at the time. I had ten open wounds and weighed about 95 pounds.
 
Even though Dr. Doom and Gloom thought I was a delicate flower, the treatment method he prescribed did not kill me. (The surgery complications sure tried.) Unfortunately, the treatment method also did not kill all my cancer, so now it is the cancer that will kill me.
 
Last year when I told my significant other, Donald, and my older daughter, Megan, I had cancer, I apparently did not do a great job with it. Donald was visiting me in the hospital either the day of or the day after the tumors were found on the MRI. I think my statement went something like this, “By the way, I might have cancer. I have large tumors by my ovaries and some cancer number is more than 500 and normal is 35 or less. The OBGYN said it is possible it could be something else, but I have to see a gynecological oncologist.” I do not remember what I said to Megan; however, it made her cry.
 
I did not understand why they were so upset with my news. I have since realized that even though the possible cancer did not phase me one bit, it could be upsetting for those who love me.
 
On October 3, 2019 I saw Dr. Doom and Gloom and learned about my impending doom. I knew the cancer was still present in my body because the surgeon told me it was there when I was in the hospital for surgery at the beginning of September. I felt great and foolishly thought every year or so I would do some rounds of my past chemotherapy drugs and still live to be 100 to terrorize my children. I do not mind if I am bald for the rest of my life.
 
Dr. Doom and Gloom told me I need to start a new chemotherapy drug and some patients can live for a few years while using it. I decided to tell my family the gentlest way possible. That night I got Donald and Megan together and told them I had news that was not horrible, but not good. I would be starting chemotherapy again in November and my life expectancy was now in the single-digit years, not the double-digit years. I thought I was kind and complete.
 
Last night my youngest sister called me to chat and she asked me about my last appointment. I told her, “I cannot talk about it now.” Donald was in the room and asked me what I could not say in front of him and I replied it was not about him, it was about my seven-year-old, Mika, who was also in the room.
 
This morning Donald came into my room while Mika was still sleeping and asked what I could not talk to my sister about with Mika in the room. I told him I could not talk about my terminal diagnosis with my sister when we would not be telling Mika until I get sick. He looked at me upset and said, “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.” I was shocked; I thought I was pretty plain I would only be living for a few years more when I told him and Megan.
 
My piece of advice to you is skip the sugar coating. I tried to soften the blow by not using the word terminal and it came back to bite me in the butt. Megan is out of town for another week and when she gets back, I will make sure she really understands what is going on. Terminal does not mean I am going to die next week; it simply means that unless I get hit by a bus, my cause of death will be cancer or cancer-related complications.

Until next time,
Susanne

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