Guest Blogger Caroline: Step by Step

Gosh.  I’ve started and erased this post multiple times over the last two weeks.  Nothing I start writing seems to sum up what I have experienced since last May.  How do you find the words to explain your world suddenly turning upside-down?  I’ll try:

I guess I’ll start by explaining that I never expected cancer to hit so close to home.  Well, that’s not precisely true. Back when I was about seven, I had myself convinced that a wart on my finger was cancer. I was seriously freaked out about that.  But no, I mean real cancer, the “potentially life-limiting” sort of deal that we’ve been thrown into.  That happens to other families, other people.  Not to my mom.

In fact, I refused to believe at first that what the doctors saw on the CT scan was cancer.  When my mom called to tell me that there were “masses” seen on the scan, I knew in my gut that masses = cancer.  In my head, though, I tried to come up with any other explanation: ulcers, calcifications, I don’t know.  Anything besides metastatic cancer.

But it was.  And, without warning, everything that I was taking for granted in my life was thrown into question.

As many of you know, I’ve been living in Boston since graduating from college, doing the whole young-adult-in-Somerville thing.  Job, friends, boyfriend, the whole enchilada.  And in May, I was feeling generally settled and starting to think about where my next steps might take me.  Short term plans included going to grad school.  Long term plans included getting married and having kids.  Nothing felt rushed though.  “I’m only 23,” I thought, “I have time.”

Time doesn’t seem to unfold forever anymore now, though.  Every plan I make brings the question “what about Mom?”  It is very sobering to face the possibility that my mom won’t be there for my wedding, or to hold her grandchildren.  I don’t plan to rush these things, but I’ve always assumed that my mom would be there for those important milestones.  I hope that she will be.

On a day-to-day basis, the hardest thing for me is experiencing everything from afar.  Some days I can almost forget that anything is even wrong.  But most days, although I remember, I feel removed, like I have a bird’s eye view over everything.  I get reports by phone, by text, and by e-mail, but that’s not the same thing as being present, being part of the new routine that the rest of the family developed.

It just doesn't seem to make sense to take extended time off of work right now though, so I have to be satisfied with this for the time being.

Coming up with a conclusion for this post is almost as difficult as it was to get started.  It would be nice to tie everything up neatly.  But that’s not how cancer works. We can count the days until chemo is over, and we can celebrate that milestone, but we still have to take things step by step.

Step by step.