Warning:
Very depressed, and dark post follows. Please do not read further if you are distressed by raw emotions.
It seems so long since I have visited here, I feel I have forgotten how to even use the computer.
I have a new version of Windows now, and can't seem to master the photos, so there will be none added to this post.
When I figure out all the things I have forgotten, I may post something.
My son's journey through his battle with cancer, was so harrowing and terrible, it has left me permanently disabled, it seems. When he was first diagnosed with the rare, strange cancer, in his left foot, he made light of it, and even nicknamed his foot. We read up as much information as we could find, via the internet. He realised that his leg would be amputated, because the tumour was too large to be removed. He joked about having a tattoo on his leg, of dots, with a 'cut here' message attached.
The reality and the shock of the actual amputation was so hard, there was no laughter to be had, though he struggled valiantly to keep his head afloat. He tried to use his black humour to get him through that bleak and terrible time.
Not everyone seems to suffer such grief about amputation. My son suffered from so many problems regarding the manner of the amputation, and the inability to get pain control, and a decent fitting prosthesis, and an ignorant Dr telling him he may well never be able to have a prosthetic.
Just what a severely shocked, traumatized, sick, and grieving man needs to hear. Bastard.
There were the snide remarks about 'pity parties' on one hand, (only an arsehole would say such a thing, and some of them were female) and 'how brave' he was on the other.
The truth was he was neither, and in the end, after the diagnosis of the cancer having metastisized to his lymph nodes, he knew he would not have long to live, and he could not be bothered to keep up a facade for people, so he withdrew, and did not want contact with the world.
He was very brave during the last weeks of his dying. He knew there was no treatment, but was advised that he could have radiotherapy, to slow the growth of the secondary tumours, which had become open, disgusting, and distressing wounds, and to help relieve some of the pain.
He finally died around a week after the radiotherapy. The staff could see him dying, a little each day.
His last week was an agonising battle with pain and distress, and grief. All the medications failed, all the pain relief failed. I wished it was me, who was so ravaged with pain, grief, and agony. If I could have traded my life for his, I would have gladly done so.
I have days when there seem to be possibilities,for some type of future, but there are many, when I don't have any, and it all seems pointless and bleak. There are the moments when someone phones, who does not realize my son is dead, and that is so hard to take. Not their fault at all, and though I tried to notify everyone, of course, there are inevitably people who are missed.
I took myself and my daughter on a short cruise to try to get us both right away from our grief filled surroundings. It seemed initially, to work very well. We both enjoyed the trip, even though the weather left a little to be desired and at one stage we were in the snow! It was all so different from anything we had ever experienced, and there were no associated memories of either Gom, or my son.
We both returned refreshed, and for the first two days, I felt as though some of my energy had returned. As is common with grief, something came along to take me right back to the beginning, and I cowered in my bed, unable to face the world.
I live a hollow facade of a life, in many respects. No one wants to really know how you feel. No one needs to know.
I am almost too afraid to voice my innermost feelings. I rarely do. No one wants to hear the truth.
There are so many overwhelming hurdles to be crossed. I have no stamina. My inclination to live has gone, but my heart still beats, and my lungs still fill with air, involuntarily. I long for rest.
Sorry for the bleakness.
Very depressed, and dark post follows. Please do not read further if you are distressed by raw emotions.
It seems so long since I have visited here, I feel I have forgotten how to even use the computer.
I have a new version of Windows now, and can't seem to master the photos, so there will be none added to this post.
When I figure out all the things I have forgotten, I may post something.
My son's journey through his battle with cancer, was so harrowing and terrible, it has left me permanently disabled, it seems. When he was first diagnosed with the rare, strange cancer, in his left foot, he made light of it, and even nicknamed his foot. We read up as much information as we could find, via the internet. He realised that his leg would be amputated, because the tumour was too large to be removed. He joked about having a tattoo on his leg, of dots, with a 'cut here' message attached.
The reality and the shock of the actual amputation was so hard, there was no laughter to be had, though he struggled valiantly to keep his head afloat. He tried to use his black humour to get him through that bleak and terrible time.
Not everyone seems to suffer such grief about amputation. My son suffered from so many problems regarding the manner of the amputation, and the inability to get pain control, and a decent fitting prosthesis, and an ignorant Dr telling him he may well never be able to have a prosthetic.
Just what a severely shocked, traumatized, sick, and grieving man needs to hear. Bastard.
There were the snide remarks about 'pity parties' on one hand, (only an arsehole would say such a thing, and some of them were female) and 'how brave' he was on the other.
The truth was he was neither, and in the end, after the diagnosis of the cancer having metastisized to his lymph nodes, he knew he would not have long to live, and he could not be bothered to keep up a facade for people, so he withdrew, and did not want contact with the world.
He was very brave during the last weeks of his dying. He knew there was no treatment, but was advised that he could have radiotherapy, to slow the growth of the secondary tumours, which had become open, disgusting, and distressing wounds, and to help relieve some of the pain.
He finally died around a week after the radiotherapy. The staff could see him dying, a little each day.
His last week was an agonising battle with pain and distress, and grief. All the medications failed, all the pain relief failed. I wished it was me, who was so ravaged with pain, grief, and agony. If I could have traded my life for his, I would have gladly done so.
I have days when there seem to be possibilities,for some type of future, but there are many, when I don't have any, and it all seems pointless and bleak. There are the moments when someone phones, who does not realize my son is dead, and that is so hard to take. Not their fault at all, and though I tried to notify everyone, of course, there are inevitably people who are missed.
I took myself and my daughter on a short cruise to try to get us both right away from our grief filled surroundings. It seemed initially, to work very well. We both enjoyed the trip, even though the weather left a little to be desired and at one stage we were in the snow! It was all so different from anything we had ever experienced, and there were no associated memories of either Gom, or my son.
We both returned refreshed, and for the first two days, I felt as though some of my energy had returned. As is common with grief, something came along to take me right back to the beginning, and I cowered in my bed, unable to face the world.
I live a hollow facade of a life, in many respects. No one wants to really know how you feel. No one needs to know.
I am almost too afraid to voice my innermost feelings. I rarely do. No one wants to hear the truth.
There are so many overwhelming hurdles to be crossed. I have no stamina. My inclination to live has gone, but my heart still beats, and my lungs still fill with air, involuntarily. I long for rest.
Sorry for the bleakness.
