The Beginning

I have had a blog before, but I used it as a distraction from schoolwork when I was in college...and high school maybe? I don't remember...but anyway a friend of mine shared her blog with me and I remembered that I used to enjoy blogging. So I decided to create a new one...



As I was driving home today, I had some intense feelings...but before I describe them, you might need a little background first. I'm a nurse in Seattle, and I have the opportunity to work with many different types of diagnoses. One of which is sarcoma patients. (Patients who have cancer of the connective tissue. ie: bone, muscle, fat etc...for more info go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarcoma.) I also work with hip, knee and shoulder replacements as well as patient's with spine surgeries. And to make it more interesting, we get overflow patients as well, so that means I'm always on my toes...



So as I was saying...today was rough. (To protect confidentiality, I will not get too specific, and I have changed some of the details.) I cared for a young woman about my age who has no more treatment options left, other than providing comfort, because the cancer has spread to pretty much everywhere in her body. She is a mother of one, and recently had a miscarriage.



All I keep thinking about is what if that happens to me? How would I cope? What would I do? Would I feel happy that I was able to reproduce, and send a beautiful child into a world with a loving father? Or would I be distraught over the fact that I sent a child into a world, full of pictures of a lady that was there, but only fleetingly?



I don't think I'm that strong. I'm sure no one truly believes "i'm content to die" at a young age, without some sort of diagnosis that limits the life expectancy...however, there are things that I still want to do. Like be a mother. A wife. A grandparent.



I suppose he will never lose his mother. She will always be his mother. But his memories will be based on his families reports, pictures, videos and notes that she has written in a notebook. Because he is not old enough to form solid long term memories.



Realistically, I'm sure I could make peace with the fact that I was dying and not going to live past the age of 25, but I still cannot imagine doing so. It wouldn't be easy.



I'm sure she's going through this as we speak, grieving for the years she won't be around for, and grieving for her son, who will grow up without a mother. And yet, I don't think she has given up completely. She calls her family and gives them updates, she listens to her mother crying on the phone, and comforts her.



It makes my heart ache. But I enter her room with a smile. I ask her if she needs anything. And listen to her every word. Hoping she won't see how scared I am inside.