Sometimes you need to say something and you can't say it to anyone around you. So I am posting it here. It seems so selfish to be tired. Tomorrow will be a better day. It's been 14 months since my Dad was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer.
My Boot
I don’t want to be around death anymore.
I want to run away.
The words once so kind
Have begun to turn sour.
They will snip me again if I stay.
There is still more time.
I need to spend it enjoying the moments we can.
Yet the growing need to be free
Is a trickle of fear and guilt,
Like when I was a child
Slowly sinking into the marsh silt.
I remember looking for someone to help me,
But the marsh was empty.
It was windy, quiet, and wild.
I was alone.
I struggled my way out of the boot
I could not see.
Swallowed there, it remains to rot as time passes.
The fear, the emptiness come back with the memory.
And the guilt at having lost my boot.
“I don’t know where I lost my boot,” I claimed.
“I’m doing great; He’s doing better,” I answer
To the endless questions. The looks of concern
I always greet with a warm smile.
And then answer the questions, again.
I look for someone to buoyant me,
But I am alone.
All I want to do is run away,
Before I too am swallowed up in sorrow
And a different kind of pain.
June 29, 2009
FormerMember
Oh darling I do feel for you so very much. I nursed my father to the end. It was a long time ago and I used to inject him every 3hrs with Morphine. Through the night and most of the day. I know how taxing physically and emotionally this care is.
Now many years later I can hand on heart ,never ever regret my care of him. I am so proud of him and myself. I am his age now when he died and am fighting cancer myself. One huge thing I can say which may help you, Now I have been both sides of the coin, It is easier to be the patient than the carer darl. I am not suffering like my family are. I am determined to beat it and have much more to help than he ever did. So while its so hard darl, You will get through it and be very proud of yourself too. God bless you love.
You know we all must die one day. Its how we have lived that counts. xxx
Having been told, three years ago, I had 8 months to live, I'm interested to know how this disease will progress. I've been on morphine for all of the three years, but haven't got to the stage of 3-hourly injections: not do I have a carer. So, what next? Breast cancer came first and I had a radical mastectomy, but it's the lung cancer that is supposed to finish me off. No sign of the Grim Reaper yet, tho. I'm skinny as a rake - having been plumpish before; have problems with eating (can't be bothered to cook or eat, etc. - and suffer bouts of coughing/retching). And don't have a great deal of energy. But I've a feeling I'll go on a lot longer than the doctors assumed.
Sarah, I am so pleased for you that you are living way beyond expectation. Rejoice at this and just enjoy it.
Peppapot, good luck with your treatment and your obvious fighting spirit.
Janet, remember to look after yourself as well as your dad. People used to say that to me whilst I was caring for my husband and I just used to say that yes I was thank you. I understand what they meant though and you need to keep healthy so that you can be strong to enjoy dad's company. Take care x x
Thank you so much for your kind words. Yes, I am enjoying life again, very much, after a period of bleak depression when I retired from work at the end of May: I saw no future. But there is: people are kind and good, on the whole; and it's in fact good to have time to carry on sorting out my houselet - getting rid of clothes that are now far too big for me. Cooking a little - and only what I enjoy; gardening - altho' it's just a small East End backyard, it's very pretty just now, with roses swaying in the wind; passion fruit flowers, and birds and plenty of living creatures. So much to do: why should I ever be depressed?
Some time I'll improve my IT skills and scan a photo in. In the meantime, maranatha, S.E.S.
