Journal for the Soul

People that I write about in this blog:

Jean - my sister
Edd - my brother-in-law
Elizabeth - daughter of Jean & Edd
Walter - my husband
Patricia - my daughter
Marc - son-in-law

1/10/12

I just realized that I need a journal also.  This whole process of my sister having breast cancer is hanging over my head much like a black cloud hovers over a cartoon character.  When I first heard her say she had cancer I tried to react without sounding too horrified.  I went about finding out all I could about breast cancer.  Walter ordered two books that were recommended to us about cancer.  Edd took one of them home to Chattanooga because all the first stories were about people that died.  He felt it was too sad and scary for Jean at this time.  I respect his opinion and know without a doubt that he felt this was best for Jean at this time.

I have been quite naive about what my sister is going through.  She had her right breast removed Nov. 1, 2011.  Patricia went to see her first and reported that Edd & Elizabeth were treating her well.  Then Walter & I went.  I saw the scars and felt the lump of skin under her arm that the doctors had left in case Jean decides to have reconstructive surgery sometime down the road.  After some time passed the doctors told her she had Stage 2A cancer.  It is invasive and is estrogen fed.  That had been the recurring question Walter would have for me each time I talked to her.  I asked an RN friend about the classification and she responded, “She’s screwed!”  I think she meant that in the sense that all women are at risk for these things, and not literally that she is in bigger trouble than I allow myself to think.  Sometime later, I will ask her again.

Jean had her first chemo treatment Jan. 6.  Today is the first day she has been nauseated and felt like vomiting.  Edd has a cold and is worn out because Jean kept him awake a lot last night.  Elizabeth has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.  Edd will take her.  Jean feels afraid to be by herself if still nauseated.  I cried while on the phone with her.  I don’t think she knew it.  Note to self:  Don’t call at work.

The things she is describing are things I have been reading about and dreading.  She says her cells dying will probably cause her fingernails to turn black.  Her hair, (all of it, legs, pubic, eyebrows, etc.) will fall out.  The wig she received matches her hair.  She likes it and will probably get her hair cut shorter sooner now that she has the wig.  She also has five hats.

She is so brave.  She says she will just have to get through it.  On the first day of receiving her journal, she wrote seven pages in it.  She must have had a lot pent up that she just let out.

I called Patricia and left a message.  I sent a text to Walter with the news.  I feel sad and afraid of what is to come for us all.  I want to run to her side.  Later on she may need me more than now.  I will wait for a few days.