When my mom died, I was shocked. We knew she had cancer; knew it was serious...but she'd been in treatment for year, and her oncologist told us that even though her cancer had metastasized, she had 4-6 months left withOUT more treatment, and she was doing treatment.
So when I got the news that she died, only 4 weeks after he said that, I was shocked.
For a long time.
When John's dad died, we were not surprised. He had been valiantly fighting his cancer for nearly 6 years, and when it metastasized to the brain, and he went into hospice, we pretty much knew what was coming...and we dreaded every phone call because it could have been the one.
Not numb. Wishing we were. Wishing we had that 'protection' of dumbfounded, if you will.
When Matthew died, shocked doesn't even begin to define our surprise.
Numb for a long time, that doesn't even begin to cover my emotions either. Intense, raw and the most painful I'd ever known, and yet...
I was numb.
That's how this week has been...sort of. Intense and raw emotions, and yet, numb at the same time.
I mean, honestly, if you look at the things going on this week, you almost have to just laugh at how ridiculously ill-timed it all is.
All in a week:
Our last cycle? Negative. No More Babies. Ever.
A lump? Cancer? Maybe no more Mommy?
Oh, don't forget...tomorrow would be the big day! Got my offer from Shutterfly in the mail today for the birth announcements I should need...probably using a picture I'd take tomorrow.
If his heart hadn't stopped beating.
I've sort of looked at this week in that way===> just ridiculously ridiculous. So much going on it's hard to believe, and yet, nothing in my control, so I might as well remember I'm that girl who puts on the smiley face and makes the funny, often sarcastic jokes.
Coping mechanisms of my whole life...and very successful, for the most part.
So I really was not worried this morning. Seriously. What were the odds? I mean, I know I am GREAT at beating them (except in the last cycle, of course), but still. Surely, it was going to be fine.
And it was. I was told I had nice, young looking and dense breast tissue (ha ha) and neither the mammogram nor the ultrasound showed anything but that...a place/band of really dense, thick tissue. I'm skinny. That's not news. Skinnier than normal, I guess, and that means less fatty tissue and more opportunity to feel new, dense tissue. Throw in the hormones of enormous proportion affecting the shape and molding of the dense tissue, and my ability to feel more in my thinner self...and in the end, there's nothing even really to biopsy. The surgeon will still consult with me, but really, for measure and not concern.
I've turned off most feelings this week. Most. Self-preservation, whatever...grateful for every single second with my boy and focus on the fact that still, my life is so much greater than the lives of so many.
There are far worse things than pouring all your time, love, efforts and resources into one sweet little miracle. I look at my clinic's FB page every day, and know that I am so lucky.
I could easily say it's not fair that we lost Matthew...and Trey...and that of the four fresh transfers I've done, the one that DOESN'T work is of course, our last. I could say that losing my mother and John losing his father to cancer isn't fair.
Oh, there's so much I could say isn't fair. And it is SO not.
Neither are innocent children dying all over the world because their mothers can't feed or hydrate them.
Neither are people who are persecuted simply because they believe.
Neither are those who suffer neglect, cruelty and abuse in epic proportions.
Neither are people suffering life-threatening illnesses...especially little ones with long lives they should live.
SO MUCH IS NOT FAIR.
I am beyond grateful that the pain of so many others is not my pain.
And I'm grateful for being numb sometimes. It's not always a bad thing.