I had cancer in 1986 and even though I’d been cancer free all these years the fear of cancer has always haunted me. So when my son handed me an Ego twist, damn right i tried it! I quit smoking that day! For the first time in 43 years I didn’t smell like an ashtray, didn’t have to be concerned about falling ashes burning home or clothes & didn’t have to stand outside in whatever weather to satisfy a nicotine urge!
However fast forward a couple years & the cancer is back, i feel cheated!
To be continued…
I write this now more for myself than for anyone else. Part of me hoping to look back on this entry & see how far I’ve come. While another part writes this hoping a smoker will read my story & be scared enough they quit!
I’ve waited so long to update this hoping for a happy ending. It’s finally sunk in that my life has been forever changed & I’m now just trying to adapt.
This grandma, once active with family, chruch & community, is now several organs short of what the good Lord gave me & looking at more surgery still.
Kentucky is serious about keeping you in your home as long as possible! It’s taken a while to arrange but I now have a live in assistant, a life alert alarm, home health nursing and housekeeping services, a wheelchair, hospital bed & grab bars everywhere! Care has shifted from “fixing me” to trying to keep me “comfortable”. Doctors have been upfront about concerns they won’t be able to relieve the pain. While that was something I didn’t want to hear, I appreciate being told. No, I’m not on my “death bed”, but there is little “quality” left to my life & I guess I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself as I look at tubes sticking out of me preforming the functions of my removed anatomy. Still I’m truly thankful I’m able to pull off a good bluff & hide my discomfort for short visits with my grandchildren. Unfortunately, my son has seen me in more pain than any child should see a parent endure.
Once a caregiver commented that I must be feeling better. I asked why they would think that, she replied, “You’re not complaining”. I told her I’d finally “heard myself” and knew I didn’t want to be remembered that way. Remember me with my Bible or singing to the top of my lungs but if you can only see me crying, don’t remember me at all.