Im having a rough day today, which is absolutely ridiculous because I should be happier than anyone I know considering the amazing news I got this week. On Christmas night last year, I found a lump protruding from my 2-year-olds belly. On New Years Eve I was told that he has hepatoblastoma, a very rare form of childhood liver cancer. We immediately began chemotherapy (which was horrific even in the best circumstances). They removed the tumor, along with 65% of his liver, with (barely) clean margins. However, we learned that more than half of the tumor was still viable and had also intruded his hepatic vein (which was ultimately removed). Those two facts were terrible news as it increases the likelihood that he will relapse. Naturally, this leaves me on pins and needles. His 3 month scans were clear. As we approached his 6 month scans, I became increasingly worried. He had a stomach bug a couple weeks before the scans, which was causing him to display all of the symptoms of this time last year. I felt an enormous amount of weight lifted off of my shoulders when I was told on Tuesday that his scans are clear. Yet, the smile I showed was forced When he was declared NED (No Evidence of Disease) in June, everyone celebrated. Everyone but me. My walls immediately go up and Im in a constant state of hyper-awareness; waiting for the next blow. But I know thats not normal, so I put on a show. Which is absolutely exhausting.

Its been a rough few years for me. I was very sick immediately following the delivery of my son. I was in the hospital for 3 weeks and am very lucky to be here. In fact, I cant meet a new doctor without answering a million questions about what happened (because they are amazed Im here to tell it). When I was finally discharged to be reunited with my newborn baby, my husband had trouble dealing with the recent scares (and rightfully so. He pretty much watched his wife die several times within a few days, each time from a different cause). He pushed me away and went outside of our marriage to find comfort . . . while I was at home taking care of a baby that I couldnt even lift because I was still recovering from sever heart failure. These are the events that started my PTSD symptoms, though they were manageable. I left the following year (the year before my son was diagnosed with cancer).

Shit (pardon my language, but its all shit) just keeps being thrown at me. Im told Im amazing. Im told Im the strongest woman that people know. I hate it when people tell me that. It sets some sort of standard that I feel I must live up to, but cant. Clearly, Im not who I was before I knew the torture of real life. I know Im screwed up. I know I am envious of people. I know Im angry. I know Im jaded. I know Im hard now. I know Im unattainable to all but my son. And I know I should really be in some type of counseling. So why am I not? Your guess is as good as mine.

But something happened tonight that was so raw and real that I couldnt deny the crazy amount of psychology that comes along with me. My sister was told in August that her 14-year-old husky had a massive tumor in her abdomen and had a month or so left. Tonight she called me in tears saying her pup had taken a swift turn for the worst. As I lean against the door frame, not completely in the room, but also not out, I watched as my sister fell apart. Her dog, her baby, lay across her lap motionless and gasping for air. I imagined my dog and the day that would inevitably come. This consideration made me realize that I dont remember the last time I loved on Louie. That realization made me see that I washed my hands of him as soon as I found out my son had cancer. In fact, I washed my hands of everyone but my son. Any and all contact that I have with my family is obligatory (which may not seem like a huge deal, but my family and I have been extremely close my whole life). Leaning against the door frame, realizing that Ive even put a wall between my dog and me, I thought to myself, one less life to cause you pain. And that thought stung. Three years ago, I would have been on the floor right alongside my sister. Her pain would have run through my veins and shown in my tears. I was hollow. I was a robot. I actually thought, shes sad . . . I would have touched her before. I should probably touch her.

Afterwards, my mom mentioned that I was quite distant during tonights happenings (as if my being distant is something new). Then she looked at me with her face full of judgment and concern and said, you didnt even shed a single tear for your sister. Its one thing if you didnt feel pain about the dog, but to not feel it for your sister? And cue the ever-lasting, internal battle. What I really feel versus what I should be feeling. What Im really thinking versus what I should be thinking. Regardless, tonight has solidified what I already knew. Im sick and I need help. Im going to try and find someone on Monday.