Of all the things I’ve been through in life, nothing ever prepared me for these moments of worry and fear. I’ve never been this afraid of anything ever in life, not even clowns. Okay, I take that back, maybe the clowns. But like most people, cancer brings about a fear and concern for life and purpose that you never even realized you had.  It’s been 2 years of testing every three months, medication that thins my hair in the weirdest places, dries my skin, gives me stomach aches every day, makes me nauseous at the smell of food, yet keeps me hungry all the time, drains me of all my energy, stresses me the hell out….I could literally sit here and go on and on.  I don’t have it nearly as bad as some people who are battling cancer with radiation and chemotherapy, and as sad as it still is, I thank God that I’m not. Because the symptoms I have from the small treatments I have had stress me enough. I don’t even want to know if I’m strong enough to handle more. I’ve barely been strong enough to deal with it right now, and I sometimes feel like I’m still battling shit alone.  Of course I have my immediate family and a few friends who actually care, but I bottle so much that people think I’m okay when I’m really not.

But I have to keep going. I don’t have the choice of sitting down and being coddled over.  Though it would be nice to not have to work so hard at pretending that I can handle it all.

And then there is my child, my only son, who looks at me everyday with happiness and nothing but love, yet worry when my face is wearing my emotions.  So I try to hide, stay tucked away in my room, but I know he sees me. I know he senses that his mom is not okay when he hears the pill bottle shake or he hears me mention a doctor. The last thing I want to do is worry my child when he probably already feels like I’m all he has.  So I push forward. I push forward hoping and praying at every appointment that my uterus has not failed me again. Praying that the cancer residing deep in my womb has died and withered away, so I can finally feel like a whole woman again. Being completely honest, since the day I was told I have uterine cancer, I have not felt whole at all.  Especially after hearing it was gone at my first 1 year appointment, and back 3 months later.  If it wasn’t for the fact that I have been wanting another child for so many years, I would have had a burn party for my uterus two years ago when my doctor told me to be sure I was ready to handle this.

I wasn’t ready. But I’m trying so hard to keep praying over my womb and remind myself that some higher power out there has the last say so, and if I am meant to bear another tiny human, then I will. And if I can’t, I just can’t.

I paused at that last sentence for nearly 10 minutes, silently sobbing. I had the worst pregnancy experience with my son, all I ever wanted was to do it again the right way and enjoy every moment of my blessing, and not just the last month. Now I freak out every 3 months when it’s time to be poked and prodded that they will say “Monica, it’s not possible”. I’m already on the wrong end of the possibilities being 38, overweight, having fibroids and now uterine cancer.  Deep down I know I should just count my blessing, Kimoni, and be grateful that I was able to have him, and have a hysterectomy. That word fucks me up. I can’t do that to my body yet. Not yet. What if? What if that baby girl I’ve always dreamed of having, that husband and family life I’ve always wanted is still possible? Why can’t it be? I never thought I’d be a single parent at 38. Maybe that’s really the worry, that I’ll just end up alone when my 16 year old graduates in 2 years and goes on to live his life.

Ugh…I’m mentally torturing myself with concerns about my womb and all I want to do is be normal again. I miss the old me who didn’t worry so much, didn’t depress herself with thoughts of what ifs, didn’t get so anxious all the time.

Just an emotional Piscean maniac trying to find her way to a nonexistent place. This is my sanctuary for my own personal thoughts and views on everything.
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