Onco Tomorrow

Tomorrow is our first oncology appt. Not sure what to expect -- it's by video.

I found someone on a cancer group who is being seen by the same doctor, from another state, by video. I am trying to connect with her. I found another person who is being treated at the other research hospital we are trying to get hooked into. I will call her today.

There are good stories and bad stories in the group. A lot of encouragement. A lot of new caregivers to the group, like me, who need encouragement. I cope through community, so my writing group, my Alzheimer's caregiver group and friends are holding me right now. I am so touched by it.

In the meantime, I have a new therapist. The first one listened but didn't quite know how to handle me. This one, who came about because of an insurance change, has a different approach. She disarms me with her big, soulful eyes and insightful words. Is it the right time or the wrong time to be this fragile?

Since January of 2015 I have been strong. So effing strong. Finding joy and even a lot of humor in walking mom's path with her. Normalizing it with friends and co-workers by talking about it. Going to one and even two caregiver support groups a month, while the sibling in charge refused to say Alzheimer's or learn about it so she could understand our mom. Being in a three-legged race, of sorts, with siblings who can't deal with the reality of the situation, the enormity of the task, the level of her compromise. The pressure from mom and those siblings relating to how much and the quality of what I do for my mom. While working full time. Through the pandemic, when I was being told that I had to move mom out of the 55+ community and into an Airbnb that my sister found. The fear of my sibling's reaction when she learned it wasn't optimum. The horror of being told that I owed her an explanation for why I wouldn't let my mom in the house during her pandemic visits (cause I didn't want us to give Covid to each other and die, maybe?). And I will say that all of this was for a mom that I didn't really gel with. On behalf of those living far away who did.

That's only up to 2020, when I thankfully got a therapist. And in the past few years I've been able to put up a wall with my mom and my sister and get closer to living my life. Over the last six months, mrguy has been begging me to stop seeing my mom because of the visits' effect on me, and after some of the last stuff she doled out (how many times can you hear her talk about sex or wanting to disinherit me if she's not getting what she wants, or pinching my fat tummy?) I have almost stopped seeing her entirely. Which was a win. Extricating myself just in time for this! And just in time for my new therapist who is trying to crack open my shell and reveal the dainty un-strong nut meat within.

So now I cry. Any bit of tenderness pries me open and I weep. I am so vulnerable. Unfortunately mrguy sees me weep. I miss my shell. I'm guessing that it will re-form around me once I know a direction we're going in. 

fuck cancer, People!