Moms Don’t Get Sick

It’s been five months since I last shared my thoughts and feelings about my cancer. I took a hard hit in March when I found out that my brain mets were back and spreading. I had considered myself in remission for only two months. It was and still is devastating that I thought I was in the clear of this cancer for a bit but it made it’s way back into the center of my life. It started my grief all over again. I started thinking about my kids growing up without me and my husband raising them alone. I started to accept that this was a fight I couldn’t win.

The day after I received the news about my reacurreance, I had someone message me on my Instagram account where I post about my journey. She wrote “I found you through your blog and I’m so glad to see you’re still alive!”. See, I understand what she was trying to say. I’m so glad to see someone thriving with the cancer I’m afraid of. But when you’ve been boomeranged back into your cancer diagnosis that message is a huge slap in the face. It felt like I let this complete stranger down. I’m suppose to live. I’m suppose to thrive. I wasn’t suppose to have more cancer in my brain that wasn’t answering to my chemotherapy.

Guys, my bitch ass is crying as I write this. I try very hard to write with class but this big bootied bitch is tired. When is this cancer going to get the hint that I am over this. I fight with everything I have. I say yes to everything my oncologist says. I visit other doctors for second opinions who tell me I have years of medicines left but I don’t want years of MEDICINE, I want years of a cancer free/symptom free life.

We sometimes get dealt these what the fuck situations and I don’t know if our minds will ever wrap their head around the fact that this has happened to us. I watch as fellow MBC friends leave this earth for what waits for us. I watch as their families rebuild without them. I watch as new medicine comes out and puts fellow MBC friends into remission. I watch how their lives go back to their new normal. I watch this senseless diease decide how we are going to live or die.

My family puts one foot infront of the other each day not knowing when my time will come and that’s exhausting. We want to curl up into a ball and pretend it isn’t happening. But then Bo walks into the room singing Ghostbusters and you can’t help but smile.

All of this rambling to say, cancer is a real bitch but I’m a bigger one. I fight as hard as I can and when my time comes I can look back and say I am proud of what I did. That’s really all I can do, right? I can raise my kids. I can research how to help  others. I can go to the Senate and fight for bills for my fellow MBC fighters. I can celebrate each family accomplishment. I can celebrate turning 30. I made it. We made it.