I started researching my cancer as soon as I knew what it was.  It turns out that the original findings indicated an MMT – then that changed after the actual surgery when they could send specimens to the lab.

I had a large cell neuroendocrine endometrial carcinoma.  It is rare.  You can put a name to it, but when you had it inside of you, you react with primal fear.  I’ve had a lot of primal fear these past weeks.  This shook me to my depths and it was not a pretty picture.

You have this idea of brave people fighting cancer – I always knew I was not brave.  I’ve had traumas in my life, but I faced them – overcame them.  My way wasn’t always the right and accepted way, but I did the job.  But this pain and trauma has me walking my dark house at night, alone and scared.  The “recovery” is hard enough, but knowing there is more daunting procedures to come is daunting.  But they hold a chance for more years and I need to get that into my head.

I haven’t been a nice or good person.  I’ve lashed out over stupid stuff – you give up a certain amount of rights when you are this sick and there’s no time to come to terms with it in your heart or head.  You just yell or cry or stew in your own anger.  Anger, not at people where you direct it, but to the insane situation.  I remember whining that I wanted my old life back – that normal life where I set my path and figured out how to get there.  Now I have people deciding things for me and setting the path because I am too sick to make good decisions.  And thank goodness they are. I am so lucky to have them – I think sometimes of the people who don’t have the supporting circle I have – it breaks my heart.

I am grateful for my care-givers.  It has not been a picnic for them.  I hope to do better on my end.  I argue, I get stubborn, I pity myself, I want it to be over.  I want to dress myself – but my injured body won’t let me.  Chill, Jan.

Being this close to dying hasn’t made me a better person yet.  Maybe it will eventually.