Up Again, Down Again

Some time has past since I was last here- time in which my mom's situation would improve.  At the risk of sounding glossy or non-committal, I am still not sure of what the situation is.  I know that she doesn't have lung cancer, per se.  She does, however, have a recurrent HER 2+ breast cancer, the same version that appeared 7 years ago.  Unfortunately, this time the cancer has taken root her in lungs and bones.  We are dealing with a significant number of tumors, more than I actually know of.  However, let's be honest, one tumor is too many.

What should be a routine Sunday night for me, one packed with the knowledge that I will need to be getting ready for work in four hours, has turned into another all-nighter, I fear.  Thankfully, what felt like the on-set of a panic attack about an hour ago has subsided.  Now I realize that the bulk of my feelings and the source of energy, once again, rests with my mom.

If you ask her to define cancer, she'd say it is a powerful teacher.  Agreed- it has taught me how much I hate being out of control, hate waiting for treatments to start, hate not know how long I have with her, hate that even typing out that last night make me want to cry.  I am awake because I cannot let go of this moment, an awful moment- one where my stomach is knotted up and my heart races.  I feel like a fool fretting about the future.

I am working on arrangements to go with her and dad to her second chemo treatment this Thursday.  Hoping this will help alleviate some of my fears.  I just registered with a HER 2 support group- hoping to join their chat boards in the near future.  Think it might be time to reach out to others who have been down this path, as I am in need of some guidance.

I think it goes without saying, my heart is breaking.  Literally breaking as I try to cope with my mom's diagnosis.  She is my source of strength, and tonight... she is too far away for me.  I wish, as I sit here at this very late hour, I could simply walk down the hall and check on her.  What I do when I go to check on my own children at night.  But we are not in the same house, not even in the same town.  Tonight, I left up and awake with my tears.  In between my crying, all I hear in my house is the ticking of the clock in my office.  Part of me finds it soothing because it is peaceful and predictable; my other side is saddened by sound since it reminds me that I am losing time.  Even in the still of this night, time I won't have with her.  And it's that type of thinking that is keeping me up tonight.  I am exhausted, but I am not tired.