having a hard time
"Is it the end because I have thought it into existence or is the end already here regardless of what I manifest?"
I wrote this in my journal the other day contemplating if positive thinking can really change the worst of situations. And I'm talking about "spell reversal voodoo kinda magic". Can positive thinking and all that crap reverse the unreversable? Like Stage 4 cancer kinda bad. Actually that's exactly what I'm talking about.
I wrote the first paragraph on Friday October 11th after class before heading off to have lunch with my bestfriend. My sister was also on campus so I met up with her before sitting on a couch in the gym to write this instead of going to my cycling class downstairs.
I won't give you an update as much as I'm going to continue off my first idea and attempt to finish my initial blog post.
My uncle was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer about 2 months ago and was given 4 weeks to live. The words I'm using with you today were not the words that were used towards me when describing the situation. My knowledge about this grave situation was reduced to lungs= bad and liver= also bad.
I was in the dark.
On top of being in the dark, I was also given the impression that this could be wished away. That positive thinking and prayer gave us a reason not to worry. So for his last month he lived with us and I tried not to worry. We spoke to him and helped him and knew that things will not be this bad for any longer. Vomiting, falling and sleeping all day were all temporary. We knew or at least we thought that the sun will come out tomorrow...
Week 4 of the 4 weeks came along and all hell broke loose. Tuesday at 4 am, he fell. Head first. He must of lost his balance trying to go to the bathroom on his own. I don't want to get into the details but we had to call an ambulance. There was nothing that we could do. It was just too much. My mom was in shock and didn't move from the stairs and my dad was pacing back and forth to get a pillow for his head then kleenex then to call an ambulance.
I came downstairs having an idea what had happened...This wasn't his first fall and the scream made me prepare for the very worst...I got to the bottom of the stairs and there he was. Looking up at me.
There was soo much blood and I couldn't get my mom to say anything so I sat on the ground beside him. I tried to wipe the blood from his mouth and rubbed his back as we waited for help. He could hear me so that was a good sign.
"Were all here uncle, we're all right here"
I'm so glad the kids didn't wake up to all this.
The ambulance took him. I brought my mother inside to not wake up the neighbors and started cleaning the floors with vinegar. By then it was 5am and I tried to go back to sleep. I couldn't. Everytime I closed my eyes I saw him, there, with all that blood. Everytime I blinked.
The thing about seeing someone you love deteriorate is that you start to forget the good. You start to forget that they used to be stronger, 40 pounds heavier and more talkative till they fall going to the bathroom and through up porridge. You forget there's better days till you see them at their worst.
Two days later on Thursday, I sat beside him after my night class and he didn't talk. He seemed irritated like he had an itch he couldn't scratch or like the house was too hot and he couldn't communicate it. Apparently he hadn't spoken for hours. We tried to give him his blended sweet potato and beans dinner. He didn't swallow it.
That's when I unconsciously knew things were not good but didn't consciously know it yet...Before going to my 8am class I checked to see if he was awake to say good morning. And I couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake. Alive or dead. He didn't look good.
I went to my 8am Friday class then called my friend panicked because deep down I knew...I cried on the commute there and cried the whole time I was with her. She came back
home with me to be there for me. My brother made us dinner and we laughed in the kitchen not knowing that things in the dining room (where he slept) had accelerated. I put the other half of my dinner away and sat with him.
"Uncle anyone in this room would take your pain away if they could but we can't. All we can do for you is wait with you"
4+ hours later as the nurse gave him his pain and sleep meds and prepped the one's we should give him later that night, he passed. Right before our very eyes. He took his last breath.
There was screaming not so much crying.
"I'm sorry this happened to you uncle, I'm so sorry". For like what felt like forever I just kept telling him I'm sorry. "He's too good for this, he's too good to just pass like this"
I still think it's funny how I was ready to write a blog post titled having a hard time before things truly cut deep.
I won't overshadow what happened to my uncle to talk about myself in this post. If anything, this is just to tell you what happened to him, to me, to us. To let you know how I spent my Thanksgiving and Reading Week. Let you know that I am furious, frustrated and tired. To let you know that shit happens to good people. That we will always live with what feels like a gaping hole in our chest but we're going to learn how to live with it. To feel all of our feelings. Blame the universe. Be grateful that we were there for him then angry that this even happened. It's looking forward to the day that this all makes sense. To the day that this all doesn't hurt soo much...