Before I begin with my next open and honest account of my own cancer journey, I must warn this is an open and honest recollection of my feelings of survivor’s guilt—a feeling I went on to learn was surprisingly common among several of us throughout the brain cancer community.
Sometimes when something happens to you, you have to tell the story from the beginning to have your side heard. Nothing ended that day how I thought it would, and I have to tell you my secrets and criminal activities to honestly paint you the whole picture. I know you will judge, that is your purpose as a jury. But this is my story, as a mother, a working girl and someone who’s life changed in an instance. So here’s my story:
Laying on my back, legs in the air… being in this position was the closest thing Sam and I had to natural conception. I was starting to spend more time in this position with a doctor’s hands inside me than intimately in this position with Sam. I had everything crossed, except my legs which were uncomfortably forced into stirrups, that this would be the last time I had to endure the 180 minutes of total hell.
Natural instinct is to want to live forever, but not all of us feel that way. I can empathise with those who take their own lives or want the pain to go away. Depression and the feeling of hopelessness when living with a chronic illness are clearly different, but those feelings of emptiness and wishing the pain would go away can be incredibly harrowing to someone who wakes up every single day in pain.