Having to tell the people you care about that you have cancer is the stuff movies are made of. Everything moves in slow motion, it's overly emotional, and it's hard to accept it as the truth. It feels like just yesterday I was navigating through having to tell the people I love about my diagnosis.
I told my husband, my cousin, and my 2 closest friends about my cancer diagnosis before I let anyone else know. (Aside from the few co-workers who passed me on my way out of work the afternoon of 11/1/19.) I did also call my ex-husband Ryan, and that one was out of fear of how to tell my boys. Every single person that I spoke to that first afternoon had to hear it through absolute hysterics. I could not stop crying, no matter how hard I tried. I was trying to wrap my head around what was happening, and wasn't sure how to talk about it without breaking down. I knew we had to tell people quickly because treatment was going to begin fast, but that didn't make it any easier. I wanted to tell family in person, but in some cases that wasn't possible.
I told my mom on the way home from my appointment with the oncology navigation nurse on Friday 11/2/19. It helped that Pam, the navigation nurse, eased some of my fears and also gave me a timeline to work with as far as treatment. When I got to my mom's house she was home alone, which was nice. She and I were able to talk for 45 minutes before my brother Chris came home. She wasn't shocked. She knew I'd been to the doctor a lot that week. When I walked in and we sat down in her dinning room, the first thing I said was "You know what I am about to say." My mom responded "I do, but go ahead and say it." So, I did. She didn't flinch, her only reaction was to simply say. "OK, we'll get through it. Whatever we need to do we're going to do it." Damn, that woman is tough. My brother handled it better than I expected when he got home. He pretty much ate through the entire announcement, asked a few questions, and got slightly choked up. Having had some issues of his own recently, I expected a more extreme reaction, but he stayed strong and handled it well. My mom said he wasn't as strong once I left, but I appreciated the strength he showed me while I was there. My step-brother Josh arrived shortly after my brother, and he also handled it well. He sat with me for a while after he learned the news and was very quiet. He is only 15, though. This is all very serious for him, and I think he wasn't sure how to react so he just cuddled with me. I appreciated that.
The night of 11/2/19 I ended up having to tell my mother-in-law Shelly over the phone because she was going out of town the next day. She was with her husband Jim and my sister-in-law Kaitlyn at the time. They were out to eat at the time, and she'd gone outside to talk to me. I knew she would tell them. The conversation took about five minutes, and by some miracle I kept my composure even though she did not. She asked for details, and I gave her the information I could at the time. Through tears she managed an "Okay" along with a few words of encouragement. She was nervous to go back to the table, and from later conversations I found out they packed up and left shortly after she returned.
The next day, 11/3/19, I told my father-in-law Gary, his wife Beth, and my other sister-in-law Gabby. We went over to their house for about an hour to a visit, and while we were there we gave them the news. They all handled it pretty well, no one burst into tears or had trouble talking about it. They had questions, and Tyler and I answered the best we could. Everyone was very supportive, and it was one of the easier times I had telling family. It was my third go-round telling people also, so the facts came out more fluidly. I was starting to become numb to the news.Tyler, Ryan, and I tackled telling the boys together that same Sunday, 11/3/19. We explained it in a simple way, and I didn't say the word cancer but my oldest, Desmond, knew. His first question was "Do you have cancer?" followed closely by "Are you going to die" and he started to cry. My response was simple: I was going to do everything I could to NOT die. Shamus ran around while we were talking, and although he paid attention, I felt like he didn't absorb the seriousness. It wasn't until later that night that he started to show that he did understand the reality of the situation. He has a little bit of anxiety, which I recognize because as a child I had it horribly after my dad went to jail. He started to throw up. He threw up randomly for about two weeks after we told him the news. Every time he talked about it, thought about it, or pretty much any time he was at home he threw up. Finally after two weeks I reached out to some friends and then called the pediatrician and asked for suggestions. Both the group of friends and the pediatrician suggested sitting him down and giving him the treatment plan. All he heard were Desmond's questions, and his understanding of the situation was limited and dark. So one night Tyler and I sat him down, gave him the entire treatment plan, and asked him if he wanted to talk to my "special cancer doctor", which he did. After all of this, he stopped throwing up. Simple as that.
I told other close friends via text, call, or FB messenger before I went public on social media, as well. Not too many, but some. There are some people that you just do not want to find out from a Facebook post. I also announced to work immediately. As someone who suffers from anxiety, keeping it to myself would've made it more difficult to make it through the day. Letting everyone know what was going on took a weight off of my shoulders. I didn't have to hide my feelings, not that I could've anyway. At least this way everyone knew what was going on, and there was no room for gossip or speculation.
After everyone knew what was going on I thought it would be easier, but that wasn't always the case. Mostly everyone was supportive and offered words of encouragement, or supported me in other ways. Sometimes people would start crying every time they saw me. Sometimes people would tell me what a hard time they were having with my diagnosis. Sometimes people would say things like they wish they could forget this whole period of time. It's awkward for me when these things happen. Am I suppose to comfort them? In some cases I tried, in other cases I politely avoided responding.
Selfishly, I have thought to myself that I'm the one going through treatment, I am the one being poisoned to kill the cancer, I'm the one who has to have two major surgeries and radiation in the hopes of being cancer free, and I am the one who will pray for the rest of her life that it doesn't come back somewhere else. The logical part of me knows these people just care about me, and that's why they are having a tough time, but the emotional part of me throws the temper tantrum over having to bear their emotional cross with them, when I'm already bearing the cancer cross by myself. Don't morn me. I'm not dead yet. I don't want to forget any of this. I want to remember how strong I was through it.
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