Its been a tough week. Been playing catch up physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally the last few days and usually along with that comes writer’s block. Also, my mornings have been about filling out applications in my effort to once again go corporate so the time I would write I’ve been working or just sitting back and taking a break.
My mother has been undergoing chemotherapy treatments since the beginning of last month. She takes a pill every day for two weeks, goes in for infusion on Fridays and then gets a break every two weeks for six months. She has done chemo before so the routine isn’t new. One thing my mother is adamant about is me not going with her. I ask every week if she has someone and she says she does and she reiterates that she will not have me go with her. The first time I had to go with her and she was very reluctant about it. Circumstances had come up and my aunt could not go with her. It worked out because my aunt watched Cydney and I had a date that evening so while my aunt couldn’t go I didn’t have to cancel.
My mother doesn’t want me to go with her to chemo because I’ve been through it already. Sometimes, I get the vibe that she feels like her situation is a burden on me especially since assisting in the battle against cancer has been my life for the last two years. The other part of that is her being a mom. She understands what I’ve been through and having to sit through it again may conjure up feelings over the love I lost.
And she’s partially right. I’ve gotten over lots of things but every once in a while something I see or hear strums up a not so wonderful nostalgia. I use the word nostalgia nonetheless because it eventually reminds me of where I’ve been and look back at those times as wonderful and part of the beautiful struggle.
When I was working, I would still have to take Timile to chemo. Sometimes I didn’t, but usually I did. We’d sit in a room for two to three hours and I’d be dressed in my shirt and tie while Timile would lay out silently while various poisons are being pumped into her in the outside chance of survival or just to keep the game going. During that time I wouldn’t think about what was going on. I’d watch TV, browse the internet, or just sit there with my laptop and work on music. Clearly it was a method of distraction.
Nowadays, I don’t have too many healthy distractions that keep my mind going. A date here and there, head to the city with friends every once in a blue, Cydney and all of her stressful wonderfulness but that’s about it. It makes me think about what I do for Cydney my mother is still trying to do for me: protect. We don’t want our children to see us suffer. At the same time, we don’t want to cause them hurt even though more than likely they will respond in a fairly jovial way to cheer us up. However, we know better and in some way, that will come back as some form of acting out or harmful vice when there is no distraction. I look at all that my grandmother is going through. She is literally holding on to dear life. I know the reason she is doing so is to see that my mother, her daughter makes it through her time of trouble and when she does, I think she’s gone. Call it morbid, but its the truth. And as a parent I understand it.