I remember sophomore year of design at Harding, learning about vantage points and perspective; learning how to sketch correctly and apply design elements accurately. So often I’d try to take the easy way out, find the easiest line and scribble away. Often missing the point of the assignment and having to re-do it anyways.
With this big, ugly, ‘c’ word, I’m now having to re-learn all of that. Not in a design sense, but in life. (I hate the c word, or GBM, or oncology… Those words make me sick)
Let me explain a couple things that have happened in the past few days….I am seriously struggling. I am a dramatic person, and as such, all little things appear as large things to me, until otherwise proven. Additionally, my dad doesn’t read my blog because he is so busy juggling everything else (I don’t fault him for this at all!) that he doesn’t have time to sit down and read all this junk lol. So, that means that, at the end of the day, when you’ve all read my daily struggle and I’ve already broken 6 times throughout the day and I’m finally too exhausted to break again, dad doesn’t see it or know about it. So he can’t see that I’m teatering at the end of the ledge. That was addressed the other day…
I say all this to say, the past couple days have been as close as I ever hope to get to hell. I had to go to the doctor yesterday morning because dad freaked me out that I might have pneumonia – I don’t- I have a sinus infection. So it’s mucous, coughing, sore throat, no sleep, and what’s worse? I got Brandon sick too. And he’s just as miserable as I am. Even worse, we have to make the torturous trek to Arkansas next week, Monday, to see my neurosurgeon, Dr. Krisht. Not that I’m not eternally grateful to him, but I seriously dread seeing him. I’m so incredibly terrified, I could throw up.Dad and Brandon both sat me down the other night and explained to me that I must change my perspective. I am in a war, and I cannot win unless I try, unless I want to. So I have to stop cowering in my fear, stop telling myself it’s going to kill me sbd be miserable forever, and fight for my life. Fight for my years with my family and friends, fight for my life with Brandon.
My immediate retort to that is that, unless I know I can win (which we don’t; no one can) I don’t want to fight. I don’t want this misery and suffering anymore. Then Brandon gets upset and so does dad, and they say they won’t let me die, but I’m stubborn and ignore them and continue to bawl… This goes on for another 5-10 minutes which is ridiculous because all I’m doing now is making more mucous and wasting more tissues lol.
Then dad calmly, yet firmly, like the amazing father he is, tells me I must change my thoughts. Every time I think I want to throw in the towel, everytime i want to indulge those creeping web-like thoughts, I must re-direct my mind. Brandon agreed. So everytime I think too far ahead, everytime I feel like I’m sinking, everytime the suffering feels like too much, everytime I feel like God is going to use my death as some kind of example or testimony, I squeeze Brandon’s hand, or squeeze my eyes shut and simply think, “I’m going to be okay.” And “God’s going to take care of me.” Which is much easier to say and think to myself than actually believe. But what’s that saying? Fake it til you make it? I guess that’s what I’ll be doing for the foreseeable future.
Please just pray really hard for myself and my family.