hard truths.

life in paris is going incredibly well. it's hard to believe i only have seven weeks left here, then it's on to another chapter in my life. we're still in the basic process of planning, so im going to keep it under wraps until decisions have been made. but here's a little hint of what might possibly be in my future: 

well, ive been inspired by a recent blogging trend. blogs are edited, secrets i am reluctant to share are omitted, and things i am ashamed of in real life are hidden and kept quiet.

i am not ashamed of that. my blog isnt fake, nor is it overly happy. there are just a few things im not ready to share with the entire world. since this post is about honesty, there are even a couple of things i'd share with the world, but not with the family who reads this blog. something about anonymity makes it easier to confess that which plagues you. a bunch of strangers worried about me is nothing like my family worrying.

but in the spirit of honesty, im going to open up a little part of me i had kept closed.

my mother has/had cancer. im not really sure what the technical terms mean, 'remission' and 'markers'. im too far away, not in constant contact, for my parents to explain properly. [this is the only picture of her i have on my computer. she doesnt pose for pictures, she didnt know i was taking this. its blurry and the background is horrible, but i like how its soft, just like her.]

we realized something was wrong the wednesday before i left for england. my mother and i had a dual doctors appointment [my mother and i are really close. i havent been to the doctor once without her. emergenices excepted.] we finished up the half of my appointment, and the doctor then asked my mother to strip so of course i hightailed it out of there. after a few minutes, the waiting room became too tedious and i went back inside. the doctor, assuming i knew everything, didnt mince her words as they were discussing the symptoms. i had never seen my mother so shaken, so quiet. i knew something was up, but other tests were ordered so i wasnt too apprehensive.

i had a week before i left for england. my mother had promised to sew some skirts up for me, and i selfishly pushed her, even though it hurt her stomach. for you to understand why i do that, you must understand that because of my gastroparesis, i live with literally constant stomach pain. not a single day goes by where my stomach doesnt hurt. ive gotten to the point where i can ignore it, control my nausea, and maintain a healthy weight. its horrible, but i am thus not compassionate to stomach pain. i really try to be, but i just dont understand how for ordinary people, the stomachache is completely debilitating. if i were to give into that urge, i would accomplish nothing. even typing this, my stomach is killing me. if i caved, i would throw up and lay in bed all day, wasting this beautiful day in paris.

anyway, the day before i left, we were panicking. the minutes were numbered, even seconds counted. my mother took a couple of hours to lay down, her stomach hurt so badly. i simply couldnt understand this. although i was smart enough to recognize that things were getting worse.

the next day, i left bright and early to go to the airport. after a few hours of chitchat, i was ready to go through security and board the plane. the second i stepped up to give my mother a hug, she started bawling. the most tears i have ever seen from her, came out on that morning. it was then that i realized something was terribly terribly wrong. these werent the normal 'oh, i wont see you for a year' tears. these were tears of 'i dont want to die while youre in another country'. i managed to tear myself away, and walk through security. my mother followed me on the sidelines, still crying. security tried to remove her, but upon seeing her tears and me standing in the security line, they actually let her stay until i was out of sight.

her deterioration was something i didnt understand as i wasnt able/allowed to see. it was shown to me in small selfish markers: skype calls and emails were only answered by my dad, text messages went ignored, my credit bill responsibilities, after her missing a couple of payments, were passed to me, and most painfully, advice was sought but not given. i had always been used to asking my mom advice, she has a way of saying what i dont want to hear in a way that makes me want to hear it.

then, in december, my family finally allowed me to see all of what had happened to my mom. she was hospitalized, and i left london a week early and returned home. i missed my exams, and my grades have suffered, but i dont regret it.  she was let out of the hospital the night i returned. the skeleton that laid on the sofa was a terrifying sight. my mother has always been overweight. always. i cant remember a time when she didnt wrap me up in tight, enveloping, and comforting bear hugs. except this time. she looked like she had lost hundreds of pounds and her hair was falling out. it was terrifying. i laid with her in her bed, where i would for the rest of the month. it was in that first night, drugged out of her mind from the hospital, that my mother asked me not to go to france. now, that is a selfish statement. if i stayed it would have been only for her. my mother doesnt make selfish statements. ever. she is the most giving, mst self-compromising, most suffering -in-silence woman i have ever met. she has never once asked me for anything, even though sometimes my choices hurt her. until then.

i think telling her i had to leave was the hardest thing ive ever done. explaining to your possibly-dying mother how you are going to leave her alone for seven months is a nearly impossible task. especially because i didnt want to go, i wanted to stay and feed her food until she fattened up again. i spent the rest of the month shoving food at her and refusing to leave her alone for even a few minutes. my mother was too out of it to remember that request, and said nothing when i left for the airport. she was too sick to come with us. which, horrible as it is, made it easier to leave. i could have never boarded that plane if my weepy mother stood at security again.

[this is my father. he is sleeping with his first grandchild.] my whole life, i have been closer to my mother. that is not to say i dont love my father. i adore both of my parents, they have given me so much more than they were able to. as parent roles go my mother is the one i confide in, my father is the one who i want to be like. but, in the past year, i have had to rely much more heavily on my father. our entire family has. my mother was the breadwinner, my dad was the artist. unfortunately, an artist salary does not support a daughter in another country and a wife on chemo. so my dad has stepped up in ways i never thought possible, ways im not so sure i could have. when i get back, i am going to step up too. i have put my parents in a horrible situation which i will endeavor to fix whenever i return home, be it in july or january.

i am lucky, we are lucky. my mom is doing loads better; in remission, markers are down, returned to work, etc. there was even a celebration dinner and she's taken to sewing again.

well, i think thats all the truth one post can handle. im sure many of you have been touched by something similar, cancer is something that unfortunately affects us all.