Just say yes

One of the biggest stressors in life is illness, and in the past few months we have all learned how true that is.  Since Trevor was diagnosed in May, we have been through different stages of highs and lows.   I hoped that once the surgery was over, we might be able to breathe a sigh of relief and find some normalcy again.  Not so much.  At least, not yet.

Don't get me wrong: I'm thrilled that the surgery is over and T is back home.  It's comforting to have my crew back together again under the same roof.  Even though that has happened, things aren't exactly status quo again.  As part of T's treatment, he temporarily has an ostomy bag while his bowel is healing post-surgery.  As with most things in life, it's easy to think that it isn't a big deal when you're not experiencing it yourself.   He still has months of chemo left to do.  He's tired and not regaining his strength as quickly as he would like.  Having a serious illness changes a person; no one can face his own mortality without coming out a little different on the other side.  There is a learning curve, and we're still figuring out how to deal with everything.

And just as much as he is trying to figure out what his new normal is, the kids and I are trying to do the same.  Obviously, I am better at dealing with the change than the kids are, and I spend a lot of time reassuring them and trying to make things as relatable as possible.  I don't think they fully understand that we still have a long road ahead of us, and quite frankly, I don't have the heart to tell them that the surgery wasn't the end of all the tests, treatments, and upheaval.  I know it's difficult for T because he can't do the same things he was able to do before the diagnosis.  Truthfully, it's hard on everyone.  But that's marriage, you know?  I remember my mom telling me that marriage is rarely exactly 50-50.  Sometimes it's more like 30-70 or even 88-12, but as long as each spouse takes turns giving more or less, it's all good.  This is just one of the times that the percentage is tipped a bit more my way, and when it's all said and done, I'll have my turn to breathe.

Even if it were 0-100 right now, which it most certainly is not, I have had plenty of people who are willing to help.  It was pretty difficult for me to say I would accept the help at first; no one wants to admit that he/she can't do everything alone.  I thought I could take care of every little thing with no help from anyone else.  I mean, I probably could have, but I guarantee that I would have ended up in the hospital myself from sheer exhaustion.  I also don't know half of the time what I want or need to be done because my mind is constantly spinning in a thousand different directions.  Selfishly, I suppose I thought that if I personally could keep everything rolling, nothing could fall apart.  Ever.  I truly felt like I was handling everything okay until I had a day when I couldn't remember smiling once, not even when the kids were around.  I spent that evening beating myself up, and I vowed that I wasn't going to let that happen again.  It was a total Scarlett O'Hara moment in my own mind.  Plus, Dr. Mike, my awesome frieneighborist (that's my friend/next door neighbor/dentist at The Centre for Contemporary Dentistry) informed me at my checkup last week that I had been grinding my teeth so hard in the night that I had managed to crack a tooth.  Dude.  I guess if I'm gonna do something, I'm gonna give it my all.

It took T having cancer for me to realize that asking for help or even accepting the help offered to me didn't make me a weak person; it made me stronger in the end so I could continue to take care of my family.  I mean, if we're going to go through this whole craptastic situation, we might as well learn something.  AmIrite??  Sometimes I feel a twinge of guilt because I don't know how I will ever begin to repay people for their kindness and generosity, but feeling guilty isn't going to do anyone any good.  Learning to say yes has been a very humbling and freeing lesson for me.  From the bottom of my heart, I thank all of you who have helped us along the way.

The wheels on the bus

Things continue to go round and round chez Wells.  Luckily, Trevor seems to be feeling better this week.  Mind you, he's not dancing a jig when he wakes up in the morning, but he's not lying on the bathroom floor, either.  Any progress is a win.  Today is his twelfth treatment, so it's great to have him  in double-digits.  The fatigue still continues to overwhelm him, and he spends a lot of time resting.

There have been a lot of difficult things about T's cancer and treatment.  I think I have felt every emotion known to man every day since the diagnosis.  Living on such a fragile roller coaster is exhausting for all of us.  The enormity of it all tends to make the little things seem even bigger than they are, and that can put everyone on edge.  Well, it mostly puts me on edge.  I'm used to taking care of everyone and everything, and when I can't do that, I feel helpless.  I'm currently keeping all of the plates spinning, but I know my own is starting to wobble.  I am not feeling my best, I'm snappish, and I'm not sleeping well.  As selfish as it sounds, I have been neglecting myself and that's not helping anyone.  You know the whole thing about how adults are supposed to put on their own oxygen masks in case of emergency then help children?  My mask is lying on the floor in a battered heap.  I need to do a better job of taking care of myself so I can resume taking care of everyone else.  

I know that the kids have sensed the tension flitting around the house even though both T and I do our best not to let anything show.  L & D have been whinier than usual and there have been more tears than normal.  It's a really difficult line upon which we teeter, the line between telling the kids the truth and keeping them protected from what they just don't need to know.  They know T is sick and has to have treatments every day.  They know that cancer is a serious issue and that he can't do as much as they would like him to do.  Although they KNOW all these things, they truly have no idea what's going on.   I don't want them to have full understanding because they're too young to handle that responsibility.  (I'm an adult, and I'm not certain *I* am handling the responsibility all that well.)

I find myself speaking on eggshells, as it were, because I don't want to reveal too much to the kids.  L started a little fund in a glass jar for our next trip to Disney.  We had a trip planned for December, but considering T will be recovering from surgery and going through the second round of chemo we know the trip won't be happening.  It's heartbreaking to see L count the money in the jar, but I know it would be too much to tell her that we even had a vacation planned in the first place.  (To be fair, I can't quite seem to hit the 'cancel' button yet, so it's technically a to-be-cancelled trip.) Dallas still seems blissfully unaware of what is happening but he is definitely feeling it all, too.  He has been angrier than usual, melting down over things that normally wouldn't bother him and sleeping on our floor almost every night  It is pretty amazing to see how much kids can really sense even when they can't quite put a finger on what everyone else is feeling. Kids can be wicked perceptive...until it's bedtime and parents desperately want some time alone.  Then that incredible perception goes right down the drain.  I'm trying to keep life as normal as possible, but frankly, none of this is normal.

This whole situation is still a work in progress, and we're all learning how to deal.  I'm thankful that T and I are still making each other laugh even when we probably want to cry.  This is all new territory for all of us, but at least we have each other.

Just as an added bonus, here's a picture of Lottie and my niece Kate in Lafayette.