It took me quite sometime to accept the diagnosis. At night I would lay awake, trying to think of what signs I had missed. Was there something I had done? Was it something I could have done differently to avoid this? Why me, I asked repeatedly? I couldn't understand, I didnt want to understand. I read a few websites, got even more depressed at words like life expectancy and long term prognosis. I couldn't even go a few hours without crying.
A week later, I went to my doctor who very matter of factory gave me details of the surgery and the tests I would need. She was efficient and professional but she was not the kind who would give me a hug and reassurance. In my mind, no one could understand what I was feeling. I was angry one minute, devasted the next. I wanted to go on feeling normal but the normal did not exist anymore. My husband told me to think of it as a bump in the road. His way of dealing with this was completely different.
My everyday tasks became monumental. I had to talk myself into getting dressed in the morning. I was trying my hardest to put on a brave face for my daughter, dropping her to school each day, helping her with her homework, helping mer make a science project, where tears threatened my every move. I hated seeing my friends go on with normal lives. I was envious of people who didn't have to go through the motions with a dead weight on their heart.
People around me, those who loved me, kept telling me to be positive, some kept telling me that it was nothing and I would overcome it. I hated to hear this. Hated the patronizing tone, the be positive lecture, the "it could have been worse" talk. I could not see the positive. Where was this? How could they tell me to be positive when my body was being ravaged by the unknown? Did they understand how hard it is to cook for the family I love, knowing I have a dreaded disease. Did anyone understand that I was terrified? That every hug my daughter gave me opened up floodgates in my heart? How did they know that things would be alright? They all attempted to make normal conversation around me, when all I wanted to do was scream out my frustration of not being "normal" anymore.
I felt alone and alienated from everyone. They all wanted me to be normal and accept this, when all I wanted to do was cry. I did'nt want to hear scientific facts, medical prognosis, website references, patronizing lectures or even reassurances. I didn't want sympathy, or anything at all. I just wanted to cry.
I cried everyday, every hour the first couple of days. I would manage to compose myself in spurts, but suddenly the gates would open again and I would fall apart. My husband did not understand why I was so down. He kept telling me to pick myself up but that only made me angry. He tried his best, but I didn't to speak to him, didn't want to acknowledge that he was the normal one, while cancer was eating away not only at my body, but my heart and my mind too.
A week later, I went to my doctor who very matter of factory gave me details of the surgery and the tests I would need. She was efficient and professional but she was not the kind who would give me a hug and reassurance. In my mind, no one could understand what I was feeling. I was angry one minute, devasted the next. I wanted to go on feeling normal but the normal did not exist anymore. My husband told me to think of it as a bump in the road. His way of dealing with this was completely different.
My everyday tasks became monumental. I had to talk myself into getting dressed in the morning. I was trying my hardest to put on a brave face for my daughter, dropping her to school each day, helping her with her homework, helping mer make a science project, where tears threatened my every move. I hated seeing my friends go on with normal lives. I was envious of people who didn't have to go through the motions with a dead weight on their heart.
People around me, those who loved me, kept telling me to be positive, some kept telling me that it was nothing and I would overcome it. I hated to hear this. Hated the patronizing tone, the be positive lecture, the "it could have been worse" talk. I could not see the positive. Where was this? How could they tell me to be positive when my body was being ravaged by the unknown? Did they understand how hard it is to cook for the family I love, knowing I have a dreaded disease. Did anyone understand that I was terrified? That every hug my daughter gave me opened up floodgates in my heart? How did they know that things would be alright? They all attempted to make normal conversation around me, when all I wanted to do was scream out my frustration of not being "normal" anymore.
I felt alone and alienated from everyone. They all wanted me to be normal and accept this, when all I wanted to do was cry. I did'nt want to hear scientific facts, medical prognosis, website references, patronizing lectures or even reassurances. I didn't want sympathy, or anything at all. I just wanted to cry.
I cried everyday, every hour the first couple of days. I would manage to compose myself in spurts, but suddenly the gates would open again and I would fall apart. My husband did not understand why I was so down. He kept telling me to pick myself up but that only made me angry. He tried his best, but I didn't to speak to him, didn't want to acknowledge that he was the normal one, while cancer was eating away not only at my body, but my heart and my mind too.
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