04-19-2020
Because chemotherapy is harsh on, not only the body, but the brain as well, (Chemobrain is a thing), I wonder if anyone will notice if I’m spacey or not? I’m a pretty on-track kind of person, and can stay the course, but chemo messes with clarity at times. I’m only hoping that my habits of getting things done holds up, although I do find myself having to write things down more these days, which I’m sure has to do with the Covid19 stressors, cancer and lack of energy to hold things in my memory. Even reading can be a struggle at times.
I remember, as a young wife of only 20-years old, with a young daughter, and pregnant with my 2nd daughter, how reading was my go to relaxer when I needed a break. Sashie, my very busy child, rarely slowed down, so I would take advantage when she did.
I would often stretch out on the couch in our Denver suburb living room, (Golden, CO), and get into a good book, often reading for hours. Reading as entertainment was somewhat new to me, so I would often get lost in the words when I had the opportunity.
That was until, Joe, my ex husband, “caught” me doing that and yelled at me, saying what a rotten housewife I was because there was unfolded laundry sharing the couch with me.
This kind of thing happened more regularly, shortly after his mother committed suicide, at the age of 61-62 years old. Joe couldn’t talk about it, and I was not skilled to know what to do or say. We were both bottled up with fear and grief, and because neither of us knew what to do, he would take his anger/depression out on me.
I liked his mom, Dorthy, and she was a talented woman that could do all kinds of cool, domestic things like cooking and sewing, but also worked most of her life as a server at a horse racing track in Phoenix. She loved her job, and knew all the jockeys, making that her go to place to get away from her tyrant of a husband. I wrote a poem about her a while back. Link
When Joe’s father lost his job as a maintenance worker at a dairy in Arizona, they moved to Colorado where Joe’s older sister and family lived. They moved to be near them and the 4 grandkids of his sister and her husband.
This was about a year after Joe and I moved there, where he went to work for the city of Lakewood as a fleet mechanic. It was a steady job with great benefit and it made me feel secure.
We bought a house and then another after a slow flip of that first one, and my daughter Sashie was born after we moved to the second house. I was 19 when she was born, and clueless about raising kids. My own mother was not a great role model, and seemed to resent having the financial burden of having 6 children to care for, not to mention the stress of having a flake of a husband, who rarely worked—My new stepfather.
I didn’t have a lot of guidance, per raising children. Happy memories of my mother doing things with me, other than being disappointed when I made poor choices were minimal.
This was especially true before I turned 10 years old. The few memories I have are of the types that are steeped in stress or pain. For instance, at two years old, I ate a bottle of baby aspirin (orange flavored!) after watching my mother put them into a top cabinet in the kitchen. According to my mother, it took me no time to push a chair over and climb right on up to get the bottle. I had to have my stomach pumped and I remember being in the hospital asking for my dad, even though it was my mother that brought me in to the ER.
When I was around 5 years old, I remember falling off the handle bars of a bike. It happened when my cousin Donna Jean rode me down the street and my foot got caught in the spokes, toppling us both to the ground. Nothing was broke, but a major sprain to my ankle.
I also recall falling, head first, off a horse and dislocating my left arm when I tried to stop my fall. Luckily my cousin Linda, who owned the horse was along and helped to get me back home so my mother could take me to the doctor. The X-rays were brutal; that I remember, as those were done without any drugs. I was put under to have it put back in place, and was very disappointed that I didn’t have a full cast.
Those types of things stand out, but none of the mother-daughter crafts or fun things that many do together, so my skill set was limited when trying to be a wife and mother. I did take some classes and read books, but missed the support of being able to talk to someone that knew about these things. The notion of calling my mother never crossed my mine, as she would have told me to suck it up and deal with the marriage and the parenting.
So, as we all do, I did the best I knew how at the time, and living in an emotionally abusive marriage added to the daily stress of trying to be a mom and wife, without a lot of data to do so.
Getting married at 15 years old didn’t help.
04-20-2020
While pondering my parenting skills, my daughter Tiffanie and her daughter Dorian, are busy cleaning the house from top to bottom so I will have a fresh start with the upcoming Chemotherapy.
From what I read, this is important to have one’s body be able to relax and not process things like dust mites, fur and general dust. So, they are scrubbing and cleaning every part of the house, and I feel blessed by that, as the little I have worked on things, has overwhelmed me when thinking about cleaning this big house from top to bottom.
Dorian also washed all three dogs! That is a big plus, since the two sleep with us and all three were dirty. Now all the bed clothes are being washed, so our bedroom is pretty clean, and with the added air purifier to keep down the particulates, I feel supported to heal.
I’m such an independent person and rarely ask for help, so in some ways, all this help feels uncomfortable, however it is forcing me to relax and let others do what they know how to do to help me. I’m grateful. I’m grateful. I’m grateful.
Mike is making a final run at the grocery store so I have things to eat and drink in case I have nausea or the weird tastes in my mouth that many claim happens, causing them to avoid food. Also, to have some healthy snacks to take with me tomorrow since I can’t eat in the morning.
This is yet, another example of someone helping me when I would have normally did it myself. I miss shopping, as I have particular tastes and Mike has not had to learn how to pick fruit or veggies, for instance, since I have always done the shopping and cooking.
He calls to make sure about items on my list, so that helps, even though I have to be patience and not just tell him to “Just make a damn decision.” That would be setting us both up for failure, as I know I would then be upset that he got the wrong thing because I didn’t take the time to help him find the right thing.
What I have learned, over the years, is to be understanding that Mike has never learned to do these things because I have always taken on those jobs, and so, teaching him, is like teaching anyone else, it requires patience and reinforcement.
His love for me and his devotion towards me, shines brightly in these mundane, on-going chores, and I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.
Since tomorrow is the big “C” day for chemotherapy, I’m trying to get what I might need to help the most common side effects of the different treatments. Chemo, et, al, will commence in what will be the first of 12-weeks of treatment before radiation begins.
I can’t say that I’m worried, but I’m anxious to know what is next, per side effects, so I can be prepared going forward to be my best under the circumstances. I would have made a good Scout.