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
Please check out my GoFundMe page.
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
Please check out my GoFundMe page.