It’s weird being her

It’s a strange way to be. 

Steve says its better. He’s right. It’s better. But that doesn’t make it less weird.

I feel nothing. Nothing. 

Hard to even write beyond recording my readings or just pushing a video. Maybe it’s the drugs, the Lexapro. I’m on a higher dose than ever. After the scans, I was told to increase my dose. Never been so high. Maybe it’s that. But it’s weird. A weird space to be.

I’ve always been a feeler. Maybe too much of a feeler. Is this how everyone else lives? Am I now normal?

I just feel blah all the time. Hard to laugh, but also hard to cry. I haven’t cried in over two weeks now. This is a real change. Even when I’ve had a good reason, not a drop. I guess blah isn’t so bad. I’m not sad. I’m not anything.

Living here in Austria is not a blast by any means, but I’m not upset. I’m not upset at all. There are a few moments I can enjoy the boys like watching them run down the hill, but most time I’m just shuffling around.

But its better. 

I acknowledge that he is right. Better than living in the past. The WHY is this happening?! All of the breakdowns. All of the pleas. All of the moments feeling paralyzed.  And it’s better than thinking about the future. No more sleepless nights. I fall asleep with ease, just exhausted by the shuffling. I have no plans to make. I know better. I don’t even think past the hour. I have no idea what day it is or what time. I just do. I just do cancer mom.

And it’s weird. The whole thing is weird. 

This nonfeeling woman is unrecognizable.

I look in the mirror and don’t even recognize this woman. I know she is fatter than the one before, but it’s beyond that. It’s not the looks, but more the demeanor. I stared at her just now trying to pin it down. She doesn’t seem especially sad nor beaten. She reminds me of the grocery check out girl by our house in NYC. Scan, scan, scan, a life of endless routine and little thought. That is the face this woman in the mirror wears. Sure she can smile on command, but it’s not real, she’s just going through the motions. I’m the grocery check out girl. I just pass my hand over the scanner.

AHHH. Of course, this analogy has a scan. Ugh. I can’t even escape them in my pretend life analogy. 

So I’m here just a different here. 

We return home on Thursday. We return home to start another round of treatment on Monday. I could be scared. I could be sad. It makes sense. We have had a glimpse of Jacob again, and here we go lose him again…but I feel nothing. Seriously! Nothing.

But it’s better.

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  1. We are fighting for you and all the kids with cancer. There are angels working their magic and your struggle will be over and cures all around. Love is growing. Healing is coming. Personally I love to listen to Sledgehammer by Peter Gabriel or watch “Sister act” with him and the fam for some love.

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