Part III

As I began to retell this tale something that really surprised me has happened. I have begun to have a dream about a recurring nightmare I had while sick. I think that I should not go into such details about the hospital stay but sometime within a few weeks I underwent a lymphangiogram and an extensive surgery. The surgery was where they collected biopsies, they collapsed my stomach to do that, they inserted a stomach tube and pump and I didn't eat until about ten days after the surgery. I also had my ovaries moved and sewn under my uterus to shield them from the radiation should I decide to have more children. Most importantly the removed my spleen because it was very enlarged. They wanted to see if the cancer was in it, because that was the difference between stage 2 and stage 3. They told me they could not find cancer cells so technically I was stage 2 but that the spleen certainly looked disease so this concerned them. It was decided that the tumor in my chest was so large that I needed radiation immediately. There was a meeting of doctors whether to hit me with chemo first but then felt I would not be able to breath if they didn't get me radiated quickly. I left the hospital right after having my abdominal stitches removed (the scar was at least a foot long) and went to another hospital to meet with the radiology team. They took lots of xrays and I had to come back the following week for my first treatment. They told me I would need a lot of radiation and to expect hair loss, burns on my skin, weight loss and nausea.
I began to shut down as Dr. Haas began to talk. At one point I asked him to stop talking, explaining I was feeling physically weak and on overload mentally. I went home after that for the first time in many weeks. I thought I would be so happy to be home until I walked in and saw my sink filled with every cup, glass and utensil that we owned, all dirty. My floor was filthy and I just slumped into my bed and held my son. I wondered how I was going to get through this. By this time I was talking and praying constantly. I would bargain with God, telling him that surely he would not want anyone but me raising my son. I would point out the condition of my house. I begged him to take away the physical and emotional pain I was feeling. It was June now and the yard was pretty with things in bloom but I just saw it all from my windows. I kept wondering how I would get through the radiation with my toddler in tow. About this time, I called a friend I had grown up with. She had a daughter a year younger than my son. I told her what had happened to me and she said "I'm sorry, this is so depressing. I just can't handle it. I wish you well but I can't handle talking to you and hearing about this." I had hoped she would offer to help with my son but instead she hurt me so badly that thirty years later I can feel the sting of those words. Many years later this woman would get cancer, lose a baby and contact me. She never spoke of what she had said to me at that time. We talked for a time but she is no longer a part of my life.