quietraven0 said:Last night was an absolute nightmare, and honestly, I can't quite put my finger on why.
Perhaps it’s because I didn't anticipate that Mom's symptoms—specifically the pain—would hit this hard immediately following her first round of chemo. I managed to pick up some Zaldiar for her, but honestly, it has barely made a dent.
I'm not entirely sure what triggered it—some people say it’s been a full month, though I can't say I quite follow the logic behind that—but whatever the cause, it has completely wiped out my optimism. It's gone. I've just been overwhelmed by this profound sense of fatigue.
When I find myself overwhelmed by stress throughout the day, my go-to remedy is usually to tackle some deep cleaning around the house. There is something about organizing and scrubbing everything down that helps me reset. By the time I look around and see the whole place actually sparkling, I inevitably feel exhausted—but there’s also this profound sense of satisfaction that comes with it.
There are certain nights—the kind that just sit heavy on you. I often find myself wishing I could just let it all out, have a good cry and get it over with, but unfortunately, that’s just not how I’m wired.
How are the rest of you all coping with this? Does anyone have a specific trick or strategy they lean on when things start getting particularly heavy?
When my grandfather was battling cancer, it was an incredibly harrowing experience. During that time, I leaned heavily on certain principles I had learned through my academic training. My mindset was simple: there is absolutely no practical benefit in sitting around wallowing or complaining—though, granted, everyone needs to vent occasionally—so it was much better to simply give everything I had. I gave 120%, if necessary, just to ensure I did whatever was within my power. That was my approach throughout his illness. Whether it was helping him walk, assisting with bathing, feeding him, reading the news aloud, or practicing breathing techniques with him, I did everything I possibly could. That was enough. I focused my energy on the variables I could actually control (even if that meant being a constant, nagging presence for the doctors), and for the things beyond my influence, I simply had to trust that everything would unfold as it must—whether the outcome was positive or negative. I didn’t try to force a specific result or wish for a particular timeline; I accepted that things happen when they are meant to happen. My grandfather suffered significantly, and there were moments when medication alone wasn't enough to ease the pain. However, having my unwavering support and knowing that I was giving my all—that I wasn't giving up while he fought his own battle—made a difference. You really have to try to remain calm, because your composure directly impacts your mother's peace of mind as well. Moving slowly, staying patient, and taking it one step, one hour, and one day at a time is how you truly help both yourself and her. That feeling of helplessness can be overwhelming, but it is often temporary, especially if you rely on what I call the STOP-THINK-DO method. When those waves of helplessness hit, use this technique: Stop, take a slow breath, and then think. Ask yourself: What am I feeling right now? Why am I feeling this way? What exactly is the core of this issue? What do I want to do, and more importantly, what *can* or *must* I do? How can I achieve that, and is it actually worth doing for my own sake or for others? What is the ultimate goal here? Give yourself permission to take your time. If what you "must" or "can" do in that moment is to spend three hours ironing, staring out the window, or crying, then do exactly that. Lastly, don't underestimate the importance of your support system. Sometimes, a hug without any words at all, or simply sitting together in silence, is the most powerful thing you can offer. There is immense comfort in the mere fact that "they are right here by my side; even if they don't fully understand, they are trying, they are present, and I am not alone."
I know how gut-wrenching it is to watch someone you love struggle like this—I went through my own eight months of hell dealing with similar circumstances. But when you strip everything else away, the most important person in this entire situation is the patient. As family members, we matter, certainly, but we aren't the ones actually carrying the weight of that physical suffering on our own skin. We aren't the ones experiencing the direct pain, nor are we the ones facing that existential terror of mortality. Because of that, I believe we have to try to pull ourselves together in these moments. We need to act with reason and composure so that we can actually make life easier for our loved ones and provide them with the support they need to fight the disease and all its complications.
I hope my input was somewhat helpful. :-)
To everyone else here on the forum who has lost a loved one: please know how deeply sorry I am. I truly understand what you're going through, and my sincere wish is that you find the strength to heal from this loss and gather the resilience needed for whatever battles lie ahead.
Sending a big hug and my best regards to you all!!!
Stay strong!!!
