Week One.

I was broken the news that my mother has cancer in a group text. When it popped up on my phone, my heart dropped when I read the first visible sentence on that very long text message: “I don’t know how else to say this, I have cancer.”

It took me about five to ten minutes for reality to really sink in.

The four hour drive to my mother was the scariest drive of my life. It felt like the universe was against me—my body felt like it was failing, my spirits were low, traffic was intense.

I was fearful for a lot of things. My mother’s life, I was worried about my work piling up without me there, I was worried I would faint when my mom needed me there.

In the interests of protecting my mother’s privacy, my comments regarding the hospital visit will be brief. But some things seen and experienced in hospitals are best to stay there.

My mom was a champion. She kept her mood up. She ate her food. She was brave.

The last week was a blur. One disassociative nightmare that you just learn to live with.

Things are going to be different now. My mom survived this week in the hospital, but she does indeed have cancer. We are still waiting on answers and treatment.

Before I arrived at the hospital, there was some foul play on the hospital’s end. I was horrified reading in her notes exactly what happened to her.

It is difficult to express why things feel so different, but if you have ever had a close family member go through a similar experience, I’m sure you get it. Things are just different.

Many people have faced cancer just like me, I am nothing unique. One of the most shocking thing about experiencing cancer in a close family member is that nothing truly could have prepared me for this. The physical and emotional strain on everyone is immense. It has only been a week since I got the news, and it has only been two days since my mom went outpatient.

I am grateful for those who have supported me and my mom. I am grateful for those who have shared their stories with me, related to me, helped me feel a little bit sane and normal.

Intend to update this blog as often as I can—leaving out names, locations, and personal health information.

All income generated from my story goes directly to my efforts to help my mom and keep this website up so other people might be able to see it and relate.

For documentation’s sake: this was published 03/06/2025. Still working on fixing that pesky wrong date. Thank you.