I have been a mess. I am physically and mentally exhausted. I can barely cope. I thought the first time around was hard, but the second time is worse.
Moving was a nightmare physically and emotionally. Mayo changed my appt from 2 days to 5 days of hellish tests that will have me sick and not eating and crying and freaking out. Then I have to make decisions. I could so soon be having surgery. I can't wrap my head around it, being in the hospital so long, being in pain, the changes, the possibility of dying in or because of surgery.
What was supposed to be a joy and happy moment of hope was gone. My son is devastated. I can't help but wonder if my cancer crap effected him. It seemed like nothing can go right. Why couldn't God just give my son happiness in the mist of all of this. It was supposed to be a moment that would (rightly or wrongly of me) bring happiness to get me through the week. I call next week hell week.
I so wish I could just go and crawl up and go to sleep. I can't deal anymore. It is harder and harder to pull myself up and do what I am supposed to do. My break downs happen more frequently, too many to count in one day.
My sister keeps asking me what time we are leaving for Mayo tomorrow. I can't answer, it will take all I have to get in the car and go there.