Self-care For the Cancer Wife

This page serves as sort of a meta-blog for my ventings in regards to Sick Husband and Life. Entries are dated.

General Info:
Jeff entered the hospital on the 5th of July with elevated liver enzymes, 2 days from organ failure, due to what we initially thought was a biliary blockage. It turns out that he has a rare form of cancer called high grade poorly-differentiated neuroendocrine carcinoma that has a presumed point of origin in the sigmoid colon. This has already spread to spine, lungs, lymph nodes, and of course the liver, which is the most diseased organ. He was transferred to Moffitt Cancer Center here in Tampa in August, and is responding well to chemotherapy. We don’t have an exact prognosis other than that because its metastatic, it’s pretty much terminal. The biggest tumors are shrinking, some of them aren’t, but that was after only 2 rounds of a 6-8 round infusion schedule.


Trying to cope with my own actions: Anger projection.

I’m not exactly Ms. Sunshine on an average day, but I did work pretty hard to reduce my anger for several years, mostly after Jeff and I got together. That self-awareness went up in smoke. Thanos snapped and so did I.

I’m both amused and horrified at my behavior. On one hand: it didn’t take long to unravel years of growth and therapy, on the other, I turned back into the heartless monster I was known for. So well that I got myself a perma-ban from Twitter. Don’t get me wrong, they totally deserved it, but Twitter also needs to be held accountable for their population of white supremacists they still allow on the platform. I’ll get consistently attacked and my DMs flooded by the usual deplorable suspects, but this week I went full on no quarter and got what I deserved I guess. My patience is non-existent, and my empathy is well and truly gone. When my drunk mother tried to lament to me how her marriage to my father is falling apart (it has been for decades, really), I stood there without emotion and asked her if she was trying to usurp the fact that my husband is dying, or if she really cared that much if my dad got her a cake for her birthday or not. I flat out told her that once Jeff was gone, I was taking off and never coming back.

My heart is cold.

The truth is, I don’t really care, and while that sounds like a good thing, I feel like a psychopath. Either I feel nothing at all, or I am ready to burn it all down, with nothing in between. It’s 100% a trauma response, but it’s starting to have consequences. Twitter doesn’t matter, but my abrasiveness at school is going to start causing issues, so I need to check myself. Losing the support of my family will cost me as well.

Self-care is a joke right now. I haven’t even found time to color my hair before I go on a trip this week for school.

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