CRAZY is about to take a rest

Well I am back from Japan.  Had an absolutely amazing time!  I would recommend to anyone that they go and see Japan!! It was fantastic!  I found it very peaceful after I started to feel more comfortable.  The scenery is such bright and so green!  Not like anything I have seen. And the streets are so clean! Not a garbage can in sight, yet no trash on the ground.  People do not walk around eating anywhere in Japan.  It is not heard of.

So, while I was gone all hell broke loose.  Our son relapsed and was full on using all the time.  Things were going very bad.  My husband and him had words and my husband reconciled and went to him and they were fine.  Both of them  were at fault.

Why are there no directions on how parents are to deal with this stuff? UGH, makes it so very difficult. You love your kid so much and yet you have to sit back and watch it all take place and not be able to do anything.  My heart feels like it is stomped on all the time!

Anyhow, I am back now and look my son was finally able to get into the medication assisted therapy program and it looks like he will have a bed for inpatient treatment and he has a detox he can go to. So hopefully the crazy cycle is about to take a rest at least for a while. I am praying he can get the services he needs to stop altogether and not turn back.  However, I must be prepared for the worst and hope for the best.  I have faith!!

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Fake Friends

This thought goes right along with those who ask how I am doing but don’t really want to know.  I have some longtime friends that I thought were completely awesome and supportive of me as I was them.  We have been friends for many years, consider each other family.

However, it has become increasingly clear to me that my sons addiction has caused these awesome friends to not be awesome anymore.  I guess it might be contagious right?  They don’t ask how he is, pretend he doesn’t exist and if I ask for prayers for him they choose to not respond.

Despite the fact they support every other cause in the community, supporting a friend whose child is slowly dying from their addiciton is not a priority.  Battling addiction must not interest them.  Maybe you don’t get the community support to stand up and say we must do something about these drug dealers selling dop that is killing our kids.  It is killing my kid!

Don’t you care my friend?  Don’t you see how you are hurting me by choosing to treat me like my son is not good enough?  I pray for you at night, that you don’t ever have to experience what I, as a mother, is going through.  The pain I am experiencing each day.  Without your love and support.

I fully believe in promoting other causes in our community and I support them.  I join the ones I have time for and believe in them.  However, I also believe the only judge out there for my son is God and you don’t have the right to judge him the way you do.  He is a precious child of God who is loved and worthy struggling with a disease.  When people die from lung cancer do we shun them, turn our backs on them and not love them as they suffer because they smoked cigarettes?  I think not!

So to my fake friends, I pray for you.  I especially pray for a soft heart that spends time trying to understand the disease of addiction and that it doesn’t affect anyone in your family like it has mine.  I know you love your family just as much as I love mine.  If it does affect your family, I will be there for you because I know the pain and I love you.

Chemotherapy anyone?

The tumor came back malignant.  That was really not a surprise for me considering I woke up to hear the surgeon talking about the colors in it and why he thought it was malignant.  When I looked at the tumor it reminded me of a peach pit, except it was colored a differently.  This was the beginning of my whirlwind of treatment, surgeries and chemotherapy.

In order for me to get treated, I had to leave the island I live on and travel to Seattle, Washington.  I underwent chemotherapy and additional surgeries over the next six months after my diagnosis.  My survival rate was low when I flew off the rock in June of 1999.  My grandmother went with me to take care of me.

I was very lucky to have my initial oncologist to be Dr. Karen Hunt.  Dr. Hunt was very thorough and knowledgeable.  I like her right away.  She was straight forward and didn’t sugar coat things. Bone marrow biopsy, blood work, shave head (yes, SHAVE it off before it falls out), choose between hickman or port for chemo entry, get apartment for long haul and set up rotation of helpers to be with me and relieve my Grandma.

My first chemo was intense.  Adrymicin and cytoxin – a dark orange mixture coming at me in large bags where the nurses wore gortex gloves to protect themselves.  I was on a lot of medications to help me not get sick so I faded in and out of sleep  Called my bestie, Kim, and forgot I had called her so I repeated that call a few times that day.  Threw up, barely made it to the bathroom when I needed.  Help me get through this was all I could muster to God.  Chemo brain… is that what I had?

The Dreaded C Word

Having two children, a husband, going to college and running a small business kept me on my toes.  One of the kids was in school all day and the other was with me. This made it so I could spend time with each of the kids separately and focus on each of them.  It was kind of nice having them five years apart for this very reason.

I was taking a couple of college classes at the local university.  When the hubby was home at night I would go to class.  Homework wasn’t too bad.  I was enjoying learning and my brain was taking in all the new things.  Learning in school is brain food, that is what I tell my kiddos.  Life was good.

Except I was constantly getting sick.  I couldn’t shake off the cold I caught the past spring.  I was always tired.  No matter how much sleep I was getting I could never get fully rested.  My body just didn’t feel right at all.  I had such an odd smell that would linger in my nostrils.  It was sulfuric – almost like a burnt match.  Its really hard to explain the smell. At one point I thought it was a dead rat or something under the house.  This was not logical because the smell was with me everywhere.

I had started seeing a doctor and wondered if I was a hypochondriac.  I was dreaming that I had cancer.  I felt like I was being told by God I had cancer.  However, many blood tests and doctor visits later, nothing was found.  This was over a six month or so span of time.

Then, I found it.  I was in the shower and I touched my skin and it felt rubbery, like rubber cement on a magazine. I pushed and there it was. A pea sized lump.  My heart skipped beats, my skin tingled and crawled, and I knew right then what I was touching. CANCER…  The dreaded C word.