The Portal: Portal-ity Thoughts

Dear John, Year 4. November 4. I miss you. That part doesn't change with days or months or years.  It's still a horrific hole in my heart.  I want to preface this post by saying these are my thoughts, what's been on my mind.  I'm not looking to argue or debate, I'm just sharing how I feel . . . The thoughts in my head have finally gotten to the place where they are keeping me up at night, and I miss sleeping. If I've been good at anything, it's sleeping. So this morning, I'm up before the sun to get these words out of my head, at least for a while. I always go back and read the "anniversary" posts so I remember what those years looked like. Year One:  Devastation.  Court. Utter sadness and disbelief.  Trying to understand and learn about addiction - Substance Use Disorder.  I shared your story hoping to educate others.  Well, the war on opioids is still raging, and it's worse. CoVid had not helped. The isolation has not helped. The dr...

A Room With A View . . . My corner for the morning - a warm blanket and peanut butter & jelly toast . . .I'm all set Yeah.  Being facetious.  I can see some treetops!  The cancer center is BUSY!  Everyone is getting their after Christmas dose of life-saving poison and the nurses are trying to keep up.  I thought I’d bring you with me today, dear reader, (⬅️ Morgan 😂) and show you what a day in the life of this grieving, and now, cancer patient, looks like.   My appointment was at 8.  8:30 . . .I had my port accessed and headed back to the waiting room.  I saw the Doc about – 9:30.  He listened to my heart, squeezed my ankles, and asked how it went on Round One. I told him it went really great.  Then I shared my genetic results with him.  I'm BRCA 1 Positive - so this is definitely inherited and genetic.   His reaction was a little shocked, and he confirmed what Mayo said about another surgery.  So, after chemo is all ...

Pick your poison.  That phrase has been turning around in my head for a solid 24 hours now.  Sometimes you don’t get to pick your poison, but you end up taking it anyway.  Did John pick his poison in this case? I suppose he did. When the nurse mentioned I'd be getting fentanyl on Wednesday my heart about stopped.  Can I choose?  That particular drug killed my son.  FENTANYL. I know there is a place for it in the medical world – in the world of pain, but how do you respond to a nurse telling you that you will be given fentanyl for your “pain” when they place your chemo port on Wednesday.  Wait, what??? I felt exactly the same when they offered it to Kate when she was waiting for her epidural . . .she declined.  Do I?  Can I decline that any more than I can decline the weeks and weeks of poison that I am willingly signing up for with Chemotherapy?  It sure makes me think.   Honestly.  I feel lik...

Crappy. [edited] Is that what you wanted to hear?  This is the worst possible thing that I can think of living through, and yet here we are.  Teetering between reality and a dream. So if you don't want to know how I'm really doing, stop reading now, or ask the Minnesota nice question, "Hey, how are you", and I'll say "Good, you?" and we can both get on with our day.   Please, don't continue asking me (true story), because, you will end up with a sobbing pile of goo, and I don't really think that's what you want. Do you?   If you do, then invite yourself over, bring a Venti Cinnamon Dolce from Starbucks, and maybe some Special K Bars, and we can discuss my deepest darkest feelings.  You're still going to get a sobbing pile of goo, but I won't be out in public, and I'll get a coffee:).  I'm afraid it's going to be the answer for a very long time.  We are all going to have good moments and bad moments.  Good hour...

Today I brought my Dad into the surgery center for a port-a-cath. While I was sitting in the waiting room, I felt compelled to ask the good people of social media for prayer. I typed up the request, and then I hesitated. Why the hesitation? Good question.  I asked myself the same thing. So, I had to do some soul searching. Here's what I came up with, sorry, but I'm keeping it honest here: There is so much heartache in the world; why burden people further. I'm tired of having problems, grief and heartache. No one cares. It might be taken as a need for attention, even though it's not for me. Maybe strong is me handling this myself and keeping it to myself. That handful of people who never post anything personal, but read everything . . .and make you feel stupid for posting. Unwanted advice. Stupid comments. Pat answers. People might ask me about Dad in public and I might cry. But then, I might think about it public and cry anyway. It makes it too real. It make...