Lately I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams. This isn’t normal for me–I often have weird dreams, or sex dreams, or dreams about nothing in general, but bad dreams are unusual for me. I’m guessing it’s because my brain metastases are back. Or rather, I have new ones.
I went in for my brain MRI recently knowing that something was probably growing in there. I haven’t had any symptoms of brain mets–no headaches, no dizzy spells, nothing neurological–but my tumor markers have been up, and if my cancer is growing in my liver and bones, which we saw on my last PET, I figured it was probably growing in my brain as well. So, I went in for the MRI expecting bad news, and that’s what I got.
So far, it’s two lesions. They’re both tiny, but frankly, when we’re talking about BRAAAAAAAAAIN tumors, I mean, any tumors are extremely bad news. The plan is to rescan in a couple of weeks and see if these are spots that grew before I switched to Afinitor/Aromasin, or if I’m gonna need to give up on those drugs and try something else.
And thus, it’s not surprising I’m having nightmares. I had one in which I was a terrorist and I shot up a building, then was on the run from the police. In another, there was blood everywhere. You don’t need to be Freud to interpret my dreams.
The other night before bed, I had a meltdown. Like, an epic one. I sobbed as I told The Hubs that sometimes I wish I’d never met him, because then I wouldn’t have him or the kids and I could just give up, cash out my 401K and go away and die. That sometimes I wish he would just take the kids and leave me. He said he already knew I felt that way sometimes, but he’s not going to leave me. Guy’s too much of a mensch for his own good.
I hate this life. I hate being afraid. I hate watching the people I care about suffering because my body keeps betraying me. I hate watching my friends die, and knowing my time will come soon. I hate knowing the kids will grow up without me. I hate the scans, the treatments, but mostly I hate the way I’m trapped in this life and I don’t even have the choice to give up. Because I’m a mom, and I can’t do that to the kids, or to The Hubs. I hate going on, knowing it’s all futile.
Here’s the part where someone comes in and says “Just stay strong, have hope, don’t give up.” You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you to whoever says that. You have no idea how strong I have to be to live with the CERTAIN KNOWLEDGE OF MY DEATH and still get out of bed every day, still take care of my family, still do advocacy work, still take pills that might not even be working. Hope will not cure me. “Not giving up” won’t cure me. I will die of my cancer, and I keep on moving. I’m strong as a goddamn ox. SO WHAT?
And so, I have nightmares. And not just when I’m asleep. My whole life is one long bad dream now.