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Cogs can think.

I'm a mere, tiny, insignificant cog in a whole clockwork of stupidity.
The little cog that wanted to break free, I am.

Quite the bumpy ride

You live, you learn
You love, you learn
You cry, you learn
You lose, you learn
You bleed, you learn
You scream, you learn


I'm normally not using introspective semi-intellectual quotes to start a post, but there's a first for everything, and the above just fits so fcuking well. Tomorrow is a very special day for me and my family, especially for my mother. Tomorrow is my mother's last (in a series of 25) radiation treatment. Next week is her last chemotherapy (in a series of 5).

The last 6 months have been quite the bumpy ride. I must say.

At the end of January, this year, we recieved a letter from the hospital stating that they discovered "something odd" in my mother's left breast. Obviously, we panicked. Cancer is abound in my mother's side of the family (one sister died of breast cancer, another sister has had cancer, her father, my grandpa, had cancer too). However, we still had the hope that this would just prove to be a snapped vein or something, or some scar tissue of some sort.

It wasn't.

My mother got examined more thoroughly a few days after we recieved the letter. That day, I had an exam at university. After that, I phoned my dad, and crying, he told me she had cancer. I dropped my schoolbag, hung up, and I felt as if my cosy little world was falling apart. On the way back, on the subway, on the train, I felt sick, nausea, all my limbs hurt, and the world was spinning.

When I got home, my parents weren't there yet. I... I cried (quite rare for me) for 30 minutes straight, until they got home. Then, we all cried some more. My dad explained that the tumor was very small, and that the docters were very positive. My mother did not need a breast removal, they had to take only a part away. So they did. But that wasn't the end of it. My mother's tumor still had to be examined.

The result wasn't what we'd hoped for. They found "strands" that *could* and *might* grow tumors at their ends. So, my mother had to undergo even more surgery: they removed her entire breast. The day she was operated on, I had to go to university once again. When I was done with uni, I picked up my dad who spent the surgery's hours at work, and on our way to my mum's ward, I broke. Literally. The strain was simply too much to take for me. The world was again spinning, and again crying, I fell into my mum's arms. Ugh. I've cried more the past six months than the 20 years before that.

Anyway, the operation went fine. They also took out all the lymphglands in my mum's left shoulder-- if the cancer had spread, that would be the first place it'd go to, so if they found anything there, it would have spread. The good news came, again, when I got home from university: she was clean! Fcuking clean, I tell you! I don' think I've ever felt any more happy than that exact moment. Screw sex, screw being in love, it means fcuk all when you compare it to the feeling y'get when y'get news like that.

But the story wasn't over.

To be sure no cancer cell would live to see the light of day anywhere in my mum's body, she got chemotherapy. 5 times. It would prove to be a though period for all of us, but of course especially for my mum. Chemotherapy is the worst, thoughest, most devastating medicinal treatment a human body can handle. It wears you down, it breaks you, it tears you apart, like a giddy schoolgirl tearing the wrapping off of a chocolate bar. But. We knew the outlook was positive and good. Factually, my mother did not have cancer anymore at that point. Those strands even turned out to be completely harmless after all, and the tumor itself was of type 2, with 9 being the most aggressive. So, the outlook was good.

Or was it?

A few weeks into the first chemotherapy, we *again* got bad news. A researcher, without our consent, had again looked at my mother's lymphglands, and found very, very , very tiny cells, cells that were so small, that right up untill that moment in time, they were undetectable. They found them using a new technique. These tiny cells did not alter the outlook. But, better safe than sorry, the radialogist decided it was best to give my mum radiation therapy.

And tomorrow is her last time.

As I said, 2005 has been a very bumpy ride up untill now. And somewhere in between all this, I also stopped my Psychology study.

Before this year started, I was young, I was practially a kid with a driver's license-- with barely any notion of how precious (listening to Alanis too often isn't healthy, sonny, it does things to you) everything around you actually is. I know it's a cliche, but really, these sorts of 'life-changing events' make you look at the world differently.

I have quite an obsessive-compulsive character. In normal English, it means I'm kind of a control-freak. I want to keep everything around me under control, I hate it when I can't influence the happenings around me. And of course, there was no way in hell I could control or influence what was happening to my mother. This made me feel so hopeless.

Now, I try to be more loose. I don't want to have a million things on my mind anymore; I want to take things as they come, I'm trying to learn to give fcuk all about what's going on. Life's too much fun, and sometimes too short to worry about everything.

So I'm trying not to. And, I'm step by step, closer to succeeding. And, I'm fcuking proud of that. But not half as proud as I am of my mother. She's the strongest, most beautiful and most extraordinary woman ever to have set foot on this planet.

My parents mean more than the world to me. I respect them so much for raising three boys, looking after them, taking care of them, helping them whenever needed, always there for us when we need them. Even now, with my mum being so ill, she is *still* there for us, together with my dad. I was very scared about my mother dying due to this disease. I still am.

Very.

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love


Verse I: "You Learn", Alanis Morissette;
Verse II: "Into The Fire", Bruce Springsteen.


Oh, forgot:

Now playing: "Lonesome Day", Bruce Springsteen
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10:36 PM, by Blogger Jenn

I'm proud of you too! Best wishes and good luck to your family!    



11:48 PM, by Blogger Chris

I wil pray for you and your family.    



11:52 PM, by Blogger Thom Holwerda

Thanks guys :). Much appreciated.    



3:16 AM, by Blogger earnest

Here's a useful resources on cancer risk increase weight gain worth a look: http://breast-cancer1.com/    



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