February is always a difficult time of year for me.
Not only is it dreary and cold but it was during February in 2007 that my 29-year-old daughter Jaime walked into the hospital not knowing that she would never walk out.
I took her to the emergency room for pain management for her Stage IV melanoma, not an uncommon thing for us to be doing at that point in time since the cancer had spread everywhere.
Usually we both fought for her to not be admitted (one time I even smuggled her out against doctor's orders) ... just get her pain to a manageable level and let us go back home ... but for some reason neither of us balked this time when they wanted to keep her overnight, that turned into just for the weekend, that turned into 5 weeks, that turned out to be the rest of her life.
That time was a nightmare for Jaime, me, and our family, knowing where we were headed but not wanting to believe it.
We were out of treatment options, which years ago were few; there was nothing left to try ... yet Jaime refused to quit fighting. When the doctor offered her hospice, she responded with, "Will they work to make me get better?" When he sadly shook his head no, her words were sharp and direct -- "Then hell no!"
We were in a free-fall, unable to control anything, feeling so helpless and hopeless but at the same time needing to stay strong and positive for Jaime. It was the ultimate conflict, but we wore our happy masks (I still have mine and wear it frequently!) for our girl.
We had successfully fought off this evil beast of a cancer for 9 years, but Jaime's little body had taken as much abuse as it could and there would be no more surgeries, no more pumping poison through her veins. As much as we all wanted to rewrite her story, in February 2007 the end was quickly approaching.
Somehow, no matter how hard I try to ignore these memories, every year at this time they creep back into my mind and remind me how much I HATE melanoma and how unfair life can be. I am reminded of that relentless fear that gripped us all that February, along with the love that surrounded us as we faced the stuff that horror movies are made of.
But one thing I never need to be reminded of is how much I love and miss our beautiful baby girl!
Melanoma Mama (Jaime's mom, Donna)
http://www.facebook.com/donna.h.regen
http://www.facebook.com/jaime.regen.rea (Remember Jaime)
Friends come and go throughout our lives. Some stay for a short time; others for a lifetime. Some are casual; some are close and intimate. But even those close friendships, the ones you think will be there through thick and thin, are put to the test when you are diagnosed with cancer or you become the caregiver of a cancer patient. Probably not at first, when they are eager to provide support, before things get really rough. But after a while, you notice they have moved on with their lives while you are stuck in cancer hell!
After a lot of thought about this, I have come to realize that it is not their fault alone. There is enough guilt to go around. You, the cancer patient or caregiver, are also to blame, even though it's totally out of your control. Cancer can be very destructive to, among other things, friendships, and some of those friendships will not survive. Sadly, they just become another casualty of cancer.
When my daughter Jaime was diagnosed with melanoma at age 20, she had lots of high school and college friends who were very close to her. They were precious to her, and she would do anything for them. Over her 9-year battle, many of those friends gradually drifted away. They had living life on their minds; Jaime had surviving cancer on hers. They were planning careers and weddings; Jaime was planning her next surgery or treatment plan or her funeral.
To avoid being a downer, Jaime never let on about how bad her cancer was or how horrible she felt. She always put a positive spin on it, along with a huge smile. It was her way of coping with the nightmare she was in, but at the same time, she was sending out very confusing messages. Then she couldn't understand why her friends didn't offer the support she so badly needed. In their defense, they just didn't have a clue that she needed it. But, in Jaime's mind was the question, "What kind of friends are they?" Cancer is really good at creating emotional conflict, along with everything else.
However, I was so touched that even at their young age, some would come to the hospital during Jaime's last days and sit in the lobby or the chapel, sending notes through the nurses that they were close by but didn't want to intrude. Others would visit, and laughter and love would fill the hospital room ... until they would leave and fall into my arms in tears. One even planned a pizza party that had the nurses fuming because too many people were in the room!
They were all so young, and death was a foreign concept. Yet some continued to keep Jaime in their lives, thoughts, and hearts
throughout her journey, surrounding her with love and comfort and truly
being a friend even when that became extremely difficult. You know who you are, and I am forever grateful!
As Jaime's caregiver, I was also struggling with friendships. My world had been bombarded by cancer, and caring for and making memories with my daughter was my top priority. There really wasn't room for much else.
For a friendship to work, it really needs two people ... and I no longer could contribute. I also understand that my friends stopped calling because they were protecting themselves emotionally from the disastrous news they might hear. They no longer knew what to say or do, so it was easier for them to stay away. And I get all that. But I sure could have used their love and support during the worst days of my life. Again, cancer kept marching through our lives, leaving a path of destruction and chaos behind.
Cancer is no one's friend, and it makes having friends really complicated. Everyone handles a cancer diagnosis differently, whether you are the patient, caregiver, or friend, and friendships can be more fragile than we think. Many, including
marriages, can't handle the stress that cancer creates. But the ones
that can will be even stronger!
Melanoma Mama (Jaime's mom, Donna)
http://www.facebook.com/donna.h.regen
http://www.facebook.com/jaime.regen.rea (Remember Jaime)
We were in a free-fall, unable to control anything, feeling so helpless and hopeless but at the same time needing to stay strong and positive for Jaime. It was the ultimate conflict, but we wore our happy masks (I still have mine and wear it frequently!) for our girl. 
