Please Do Not Read

November 29, 2024

I haven’t done this since I was a kid. It feels silly somehow. Maybe I’m self-conscious of my thoughts. I took the suggestion, though. What else am I going to do?

When I was little, my diary was one of those chintzy little things. A fat block that would now lay easily on my flat hand. The edge dusted with gold, a gilding that would rub off on my fingers in the summer. A flat lock pressed against the pages that my sister would undo with her identical key.

Maybe that’s the reason I never wrote the truth in it. Or maybe it’s because I was only eight and didn’t know what truth was.

I don’t know what to say, a common misstep with me. I’m starting doxorubicin today, and I’m scared.

December 21, 2024

I have always meant to write. This time was going to be different. Every time was going to be different. You know what would motivate me? A new pretty notebook, but the gorgeous florals on the cover in lavender instead of pinks. I think about those past books from time to time. The ones with a few pages filled in only for those sheets to be ripped from the spine years later, as the mutilated anthologies that never fulfilled their destiny were thrown in a Goodwill pile.

Now I’m thinking about the box for Goodwill that’s been riding around in my trunk for over a month. Maybe I have a problem with procrastination.

December 25, 2024

Merry Christmas. I was invited to Nita’s house, but just couldn’t get over my anxiety to go. It feels too odd being the only one not in the family. The only one who doesn’t get the inside jokes. The distant relatives staring with the slightest bit of pity on their faces, wondering why you don’t have your own family to be with. It’s all bad.

No, I’d rather stay home where there is no pressure to be happy or grateful.

January 1, 2025

Did you know that in England, a diary is more of a calendar? Maybe calendar isn’t quite right, but it is more so used for marking down appointments and important events. Maybe if I treat this as a British type of diary, I will get into the habit of writing every day. I will try that starting tomorrow.

I still haven’t dropped off that box. I will make that my resolution.

January 9, 2025

I figured out the problem with my previous plan. I don’t do anything. I go to work and doctor’s appointments, occasionally the store, but Instacart has made that much less likely lately. I can write the rest of January on this page.

1/6 Infusion 4 @ 9:00 am

1/16 Cardiology @ 10:00 am

To make sure that what is saving me isn’t killing me.

1/20 PET @ 9:00 am, fasting

1/27 Oncology @ 1:30 pm

To go over results.

January 24, 2025

I got the email that test results were available in my MyChart. When I started all of this, years ago, I learned quickly not to read them. There have been times when I grieved and steeled myself for bad news, only for the oncologist to disagree with the severity stated. Other times, it had initially read as good, but there was a little spot we needed to look closer at, and at least once that teeny spot turned out to a catastrophic.

I know not to take much stock in the radiologist's report. I know I shouldn’t have even looked. But curiosity, fear, and impatience all got the better of me, and I looked. I think I know this is now the beginning of the end. But still, I will try to hold onto that tiny thread of hope that always lingers.

January 28, 2025

I knew when I saw my favorite nurse in the corner of the office, hovering, trying to blend in and look busy. She knew I would need someone on my side of the room. I knew because I had been warned this was a Hail Mary, I would be out of options if this regime failed. I knew because I had seen the words growth and spread numerous times on the scan report. I knew because it was everywhere, mets in my lungs, on my liver, and eating my spine. I knew because she wouldn’t make eye contact with me, because the slightest film of tears glazed her beautiful eyes.

She was the nurse who casually mentioned the statistic about husbands leaving when she noticed mine stopped coming to appointments. Less than a year later, he was gone, couldn’t handle it, he’d said, that there was never good news. That was when she suggested I keep this diary. A sounding board, I suppose, for all the things to come, the feelings to be had. I didn’t keep one then, though. He left, and I was okay. I guess since I had a bigger fight in front of me, I didn’t have much time to consider the loss.

It wasn’t questionable growth this time. There was no hemming and hawing over centimeters. This time it was a list, five centimeters here, six there. I’m not sure, I blanked out for a bit, but I knew. All that growth despite the red devil coursing through me every three weeks.

They had two clinical trials pulled up that I might qualify for. I was young, and the cardiologist's report came back as normal, but I already knew, as did they.

2/4 Hospice intake @ 3:00 pm

February 5, 2025

The hospice nurse, Julie, was lovely. She came with a social worker, my sister was on Zoom, and Nita popped over from next door. They toured the house and decided what was needed now. Turns out not much, I already had grab bars installed in the bathrooms, I wouldn’t need a hospital bed, by the time it got that bad, I would be going to the hospice house. They are ordering an oxygen tank for me, and they took a list of my medications that they will now fill. A nurse would stop by once a week to check my progress, and an aide would stop in twice a week to ensure I didn’t need any help bathing or the like.

At one point, the idea of needing help bathing would have sent me into a spiral. That changes, maybe it is an example of accepting death or being ready to die. Not the part about needing help, but the part about it being so much less scary than you imagined. Things that seem insurmountable get smaller instead of larger the closer you get, despite what the art perspective theory has taught us.

February 10, 2025

I was never one of those people who talked about my cancer. Hearing the words breast cancer at just 32 was a shock. I never walked around with my bald head on display or even with a scarf. I wasn’t ashamed, I just didn’t want to let it be the biggest part of my life. Even though it was. I didn’t want to let it win. I didn’t want to have others worry about me. I didn’t tell people it was the reason for my divorce. I adjusted my wig and went to work.

Friday was my last day of work. I didn’t tell anyone and certainly wouldn’t have mentioned why if I had. By ten this morning, I had gotten a few texts asking what happened. I don’t know if I’ll reply to them. I may regret it if I don’t, but I don’t want the silence, or the “I’m so sorry,” or the anecdotal story of a friend’s grandpa getting off of hospice after a year. That probably makes me a bitch.

February 20, 2025

Hey, I finally dropped off that box at Goodwill. Okay, a poor attempt at being facetious. A lot has been going. It’s wild how much you accumulate; it’s a little embarrassing. I found things I never even used. I thought I wasn’t a victim of over-consumerism, but turns out I was wrong. I feel bad about that.

February 24, 2025

I found a channel on my TV that plays nothing but Supermarket Sweep. 24 hours a day, it’s been a comfort to me. There is a mix between the early 90s episodes and the 2000s reboot. I like the early episodes, as soon as I see the host, I know what it will be. A garish, chunky, colorful sweater, and I am sat. A button-up with a tie, it becomes background noise as I fill boxes of stuff that once felt semi-precious to me.

One collection I haven’t been able to get rid of is my childhood toys. Well, they aren’t MY toys but duplicates I hunted down at thrift stores, flea markets, and on eBay. A lot of it is just little trinkets, McDonald toys, even those conjure up the feelings of innocence. Polly Pocket, Care Bears, My Little Pony, Popples, Strawberry Shortcake, Cabbage Patch Kids, all adorable and old, and reminders of a simpler time. I am hoping my sister will want them. I hope they will bring her some joy in her sadness, like they did for me.

March 3, 2025

I tried morphine for the first time today. I don’t like it. I’m not even sure it relieves pain. Seems like it just knocks you unconscious so you can’t feel it. I’m going to ask to try something different. My back is the biggest problem right now. Ibuprofen isn’t touching the spot where I know the tumor is growing. A few months back, a surgeon offered to cut out as much of it as he could. It wouldn’t be curative, but for pain relief. I didn’t want another surgery, let alone spine surgery. Let me tell you that today I regret that. I have never been good at making decisions.

March 15, 2025

I had one more surgery. It was simple, just to insert a nerve block catheter, they put it right into my spine. It works, I’m relatively pain free. The trade-off was that now my legs are weak. I am using a walker now just to get around the house.

March 23, 2025

I have been eating a lot of ice cream and chocolate lately. More than I ever had before, I was never much of a sweet tooth. I’m not sure if that’s the cancer. I read on some holistic blog that cancer loves sugar. I’m not sure I believe any of that. The genetic lottery and luck seem to be much more indicative. So life and let live, I guess.

March 29, 2025

I can’t do much now. My legs are weak, and the tumors in my lungs must be getting bigger because I’m requiring more oxygen while I sleep. I find myself stopping after a few steps to catch my breath. Luckily, most of the house is done; all that is left is what I use and what I would like my sister to have. Unluckily, the more I sit with nothing to do, the freer my brain is to wander. I am panicking more. It’s a chicken or the egg type of situation because the more I panic, the harder it is to breathe, and the harder it is to breathe, the more I panic.

The hospice nurse is bringing Xanax tomorrow.

April 1, 2025

It’s April Fool's Day. I don’t know why I felt the need to note that; it’s not even a real holiday, but it feels like it could be my last. When is Easter this year?

April 9, 2025

Things feel like they are moving quickly. We had a meeting with the hospice nurse today about planning a time for me to move into the local hospice house. Nita needs to stop by multiple times a day to help. My sister just had her baby, my baby niece, who was given my name as her middle name. It will be weeks before she can travel, and even still seems impossible with a newborn. The house is full right now, and they are adding my name to the list. I suppose vacancies pop up all the time. I feel sad about it. I don’t think I’ll let myself feel more than that.

April 16, 2025

I said goodbye to my house today. My home for the last 15 years. A place that once held my greatest dreams, and also where I face my deepest heartbreaks. When I was alone, I kissed the stairway banister and thanked that house. I thanked it for the memories and for being the container that held almost all of my adult life. I wanted to cry desperately, but I still haven’t mastered the art of crying in front of other people. So instead, it stayed as a lump in the middle of my throat.

April 17, 2025

The hospice house is nice. Not as scary as I imagined. It’s not rigid like the hospital or stinky like the nursing homes. It's a bit plain, neutral. Everything is in white, cream, and beige.

Everyone here is comfortable with death. I like that. If there is another life, like some sort of reincarnation, I hope I remember part of this because I think if things were different, I would like to work in hospice.

April 20, 2025

The nurse asked about this book, as she noticed it sitting on the bedside table. There isn’t much to do here except watch TV. Nita has stopped in a few times, but other than that, the nurses are my company. It's not like the hospital here, they have to talk, they want to talk. She journals, too, and understands the fear of someone ever finding them. Someone not only has access to the most vulnerable parts of you, but also the potential of not even knowing they did. I told her I didn’t write everything down for that very reason. She said if I wanted to, if I really wanted to write, she would make sure this notebook would find its way into the dumpster before it touched anyone else’s hands.

April 22, 2025

I think about death a lot now. I’m not scared of dying, the actual process of dying, I mean. I have seen now how they can keep you from feeling pain. But what scares me is the idea of eternity. ETERNITY. I can even comprehend the word. I don’t believe in Heaven, but if I did, the thought of eternity there is terrifying. I think death will be nothingness, which again, isn’t bad, but an eternity of nothingness? I think of it like sleeping. I never know when I’m asleep, and when I wake up, it feels like no time has passed at all. But there won’t be waking up. And there won’t be time.

It's hard to breathe again.

May 2, 2025

I don’t believe in Hell, but I think about it all of the time. I don’t believe in religion, but I always believed in being a good person, or at least trying to be a good person. The trouble is that good and bad were always on a spectrum. If you compare yourself to a serial killer, then you’re good. But if you compare yourself to Jesus, then you’re inherently bad. The trouble is, I think a lot of us on the in-between lie. I think our egos get in the way. Or our intentions. I have done a lot of bad things. I have had a lot of bad thoughts. But I don’t know where I fall on the spectrum. Am I closer to a serial killer? I kicked a dog once. I was mad and kicked it. I lost my temper. Another time, I saw a man passed out on drugs holding a sign that said Jesus saves. I said out loud How is that working out for you? I want to ask other people about their worst things. Have they stolen money? Have they hit their spouse? Have they thought about setting something on fire? Have they wished someone ill? Do they secretly hate their mothers? Do they wish they had never had kids? I want to know. I am desperate to know so I can measure where I am.

These thoughts keep me up at night. Am I bad? If there is a hell like place, is that where I’m going?

June 9, 2025

I sleep a lot now. I get the morphine mixed with some type of benzo. My sister flew in the other day. It was so nice to see her. I wish both of our lives could have been different. But I figure the end is near; they didn’t say anything to me, but I know the warning signs. They probably called her to tell her it was time. The nurse promised she would dispose of this immediately. It’s not something I want anyone reading, ever. I don’t want whatever memories are left of me in this world to be about cancer.

June 13, 2025

I’m scared.