Honestly, I was really hoping to be done with the whole Living with Leukemia series. I thought I would do a post in April about what life was like a year after the transplant and then I’d be able to forget the whole sad ordeal. Why is it that nothing ever goes according to plan?
So here we are again, talking about chemo and transplants and what not, and my strongest feeling right now is anger. I’m angry. I’m so royally pissed off that there are no words to describe it. And I don’t want to talk about it, which is why I’m writing about it.
So first things first, don’t ask me how we’re doing, and more than anything don’t ask me how the husband’s doing. We’ve got two blogs, we’ll be writing about it, I promise, but I cannot, I simply cannot spend another year talking about how he’s doing, how the chemo is making him feel like shit, speculating about what could or could not happen and what the next move is. Ask me how I am, ask me about the kids, but don’t expect me to talk about the cancer cause I just can’t. Sorry.
Now that I got that off my chest… we can move on to the anger and anxiety, which much like Jack and Jill, go hand in hand until they both go tumbling down.
As I mentioned in previous posts, I’m a little stressed. I’m stressed because life was finally going back to normal, the husband is feeling good again, he’s got energy, he can play with the kids, he goes to work, we were making plans for our future… And two weeks ago it literally came tumbling down. Because, and this is what nobody talks about as “it’s just not done”, when you’ve got a very resistant type of leukemia, you have a BM transplant after three rounds of extremely aggressive chemo and radiation therapy so strong that your body could not withstand another round, and the fucking leukemia comes back after less than a year the undertone to every single conversion with your doctor becomes if you survive.
This time around we know what we’re going to be going through, the husband knows exactly how shitty he’s going to feel, I have to watch him go through the whole damn process again, the kids won’t see him for at least a month and when he comes home he won’t have the strength and energy to be with us like he does now. And we don’t know how it’s going to go. Of course, we had no guarantees the first time around either, but then again the first time around we weren’t told, and I quote “if you had gone to another hospital they would have told you there was nothing else to do.”
So this is why I’m angry. Because after the year we just had shouldn’t we be given a break? I mean, really, fate or whatever else manages the events in our lives, the happiness and suffering allotted to us, couldn’t just have diverted its attention from us for a little while? Horrible things happen daily to all manner of people, just turn on the news. But I’m still mad. I just wanted to have a few years of calm, and planning for the future and raising our kids with no major drama. Is that really too much to expect?