Journal entry by Jordyn Ramsey —
My Cup- Robert Friend
They Tell me I am going to die.
Why Don't I Seem to care?
My cup is full. Let it spill.
When I last wrote, I was in the middle of my fourth round of chemotherapy. That round, was for me, the turning point in my cancer journey. During that round, I was completely alone besides my nurses, and my newly made fellow cancer warrior Alyson. We weren't allowed visitors due to Covid-19, and solely had ourselves, and our nurses to depend on, and turn to. During this round, there was a point in time that I honestly, genuinely, felt it in my bones, thought I was going to die. The pain was unimaginable, the loneliness was debilitating, and the aching for normalcy was at it highest peak. Thankfully, I survived my fourth round, said tearful goodbyes to all my nurses and every one on 10E that helped me survive chemotherapy, and headed up.
What lay ahead for me? Well, my scans were scheduled for November 20th so until then, all I could do was wait. On the 20th I woke up early, brushed my teeth, and headed on to my scans. The contrast was disgusting, as usual to no disappointment there. The IV made me feel like I was peeing myself, and the positions were as uncomfortable as ever thanks to the giant tumor that just seemed like it was refusing to stop growing. I got home from my scans, knowing my results would be back earlier than the seven day time frame they gave me, and just, waited. Meanwhile, I felt it in my bones that something just wasn't right still. My body just felt like it was shutting down on me. I received my results through my MYCHART the day after Thanksgiving. The only parts I understood were "Growing" "No Change" and "No sign of Necrosis". So I sat on it, and waited until the following Monday when my Dr. would call me and go over the results. That weekend took forever to pass. When Monday came, I sat on my bed, as I did nearly six months prior when I was informed I have cancer, and listened to Dr. Damron tell me that the chemo didn't touch my tumor, and that even though two of the original nodules in my lungs shrunk, two NEW ones grew on top of the many others I had in there.
Everything after that became a giant blur except for "Palliative surgery," "Palliative Chemo," "All we can hope for is to extend your time," and "We had just caught it so late." There I was, 29 years old, basically being told that I was dying. It took me a second to catch my breath before I started making the 7849375 billion phone calls to everyone to let them know what the Dr. said. The following week, I had an appt with my oncologist, to discuss my options. I sat in his office, and listened to him repeat the same things as Dr. Damron. He referred me to 5 other clinics and hospitals, and sent out my medical records and information to make sure there were multiple opinions, and unfortunately every opinion was the same. He offered me an experimental trial, to extend me more time than the original 3-6 months I was looking at. I agreed, and was sent into surgery the following week to get a port placed. The next day after port placement, I started Immunotherapy and Trabectedin, a different type of Chemotherapy that I was able to remain outpatient for, and only had to do it once a month. Last Wednesday was my first week on the trial, and I have never been more tired, sick, and weak.
Breathing is getting harder and harder to do, as well as eating and keeping things down. I am tired just from walking from my bedroom to the bathroom and little mundane tasks like washing my daughters hair, and picking up something off of the floor utterly exhaust me. If I continue the treatment, I am looking at closer to a year with my kids, and my family. However, I am starting to wonder if the extra time is worth losing the quality of my time. With the idea of beating this cancer completely out of my head, I now have to make the decision on whether or not I want to continue putting my body through this shit.
In the mean time, while the plot line took a dark turn, everyone around me, and I mean EVERYONE, strangers, family, friends, friend of friends, old friends, and even people I didn't get along with, rallied around me to make sure this Christmas with my children was one for the memory books. My nurses and doctors at EVERY doctors office I go to, my sons teachers, old friends from high school, family friends, local businesses and even some complete strangers donated gifts, food, and money to the go fund me page my Aunt set up to help with medical bills and to secure a little bit of financial stability for my kids. The support has been utterly breathtaking and overwhelming. Everybody going out of their way to set up special activities for my kids and I to enjoy as a family and make memories. Everyone going out of their way to make sure the kids and myself, don't go without this Christmas. I am Gobsmacked. I have no words that can truly express the gratitude I feel; how thankful I Truly am. How lucky my kids are to be thought of and loved by so many people.
I woke up yesterday morning (Christmas Eve), a complete and total mess. The reality of this being the last Christmas with my kids, hit me like a million bricks. I cried a lot throughout the day, and was just, sad. I was supposed to be happy. Everyone went out of their way to make sure me and my children are nothing but happy this Christmas, and here I am, unable to hold my shit together. I feel more and more sicker every day. My skin is so dry that no matter how much lotion I apply, it doesn't help. My face is exploding with crazy cystic acne that I NEVER had to deal with before Chemotherapy. It hurts to breathe, laugh, hug my children. Eating is a game of Russian roulette for I never know if I am going to be able to keep down what I eat. I barely sleep, and when I do its damn near all day to catch up on the hours of sleep I have lost throughout the week.
I Do Not Want To Die. I always pictured myself watching my babies grow into great human beings, and having their own babies. This is not something I ever wanted my kids to experience.
However, I Do Not Want To Keep Living if all it means is pain. Every day I see so much happiness around me in my babies, because they are still too young and innocent to understand what dying means. Meanwhile, everyone else around me is watching me die. Staying positive for me because accepting death is taboo in our culture. Watching my loved ones going through their own type of pain because they are forced to slap smiles on their faces while watching me suffer from the pain. A vicious cycle of every one slapping on figurative masks to protect each other from how we are all feeling.
I Do Not Want To Die, however I know it is what is coming. I feel it in my body. I feel it. All I can do for this moment in time, is spend every waking second of this Christmas day, making memories with Royce and Nola. I want them to remember Mommy, and not just the shell of the person she once was.
I hope everyone has a beautiful Christmas. And Thank You, to every single person, no matter their contribution, for helping me make these memories with my kids. Your kindness will FOREVER be remembered.
-Jo
They Tell me I am going to die.
Why Don't I Seem to care?
My cup is full. Let it spill.
When I last wrote, I was in the middle of my fourth round of chemotherapy. That round, was for me, the turning point in my cancer journey. During that round, I was completely alone besides my nurses, and my newly made fellow cancer warrior Alyson. We weren't allowed visitors due to Covid-19, and solely had ourselves, and our nurses to depend on, and turn to. During this round, there was a point in time that I honestly, genuinely, felt it in my bones, thought I was going to die. The pain was unimaginable, the loneliness was debilitating, and the aching for normalcy was at it highest peak. Thankfully, I survived my fourth round, said tearful goodbyes to all my nurses and every one on 10E that helped me survive chemotherapy, and headed up.
What lay ahead for me? Well, my scans were scheduled for November 20th so until then, all I could do was wait. On the 20th I woke up early, brushed my teeth, and headed on to my scans. The contrast was disgusting, as usual to no disappointment there. The IV made me feel like I was peeing myself, and the positions were as uncomfortable as ever thanks to the giant tumor that just seemed like it was refusing to stop growing. I got home from my scans, knowing my results would be back earlier than the seven day time frame they gave me, and just, waited. Meanwhile, I felt it in my bones that something just wasn't right still. My body just felt like it was shutting down on me. I received my results through my MYCHART the day after Thanksgiving. The only parts I understood were "Growing" "No Change" and "No sign of Necrosis". So I sat on it, and waited until the following Monday when my Dr. would call me and go over the results. That weekend took forever to pass. When Monday came, I sat on my bed, as I did nearly six months prior when I was informed I have cancer, and listened to Dr. Damron tell me that the chemo didn't touch my tumor, and that even though two of the original nodules in my lungs shrunk, two NEW ones grew on top of the many others I had in there.
Everything after that became a giant blur except for "Palliative surgery," "Palliative Chemo," "All we can hope for is to extend your time," and "We had just caught it so late." There I was, 29 years old, basically being told that I was dying. It took me a second to catch my breath before I started making the 7849375 billion phone calls to everyone to let them know what the Dr. said. The following week, I had an appt with my oncologist, to discuss my options. I sat in his office, and listened to him repeat the same things as Dr. Damron. He referred me to 5 other clinics and hospitals, and sent out my medical records and information to make sure there were multiple opinions, and unfortunately every opinion was the same. He offered me an experimental trial, to extend me more time than the original 3-6 months I was looking at. I agreed, and was sent into surgery the following week to get a port placed. The next day after port placement, I started Immunotherapy and Trabectedin, a different type of Chemotherapy that I was able to remain outpatient for, and only had to do it once a month. Last Wednesday was my first week on the trial, and I have never been more tired, sick, and weak.
Breathing is getting harder and harder to do, as well as eating and keeping things down. I am tired just from walking from my bedroom to the bathroom and little mundane tasks like washing my daughters hair, and picking up something off of the floor utterly exhaust me. If I continue the treatment, I am looking at closer to a year with my kids, and my family. However, I am starting to wonder if the extra time is worth losing the quality of my time. With the idea of beating this cancer completely out of my head, I now have to make the decision on whether or not I want to continue putting my body through this shit.
In the mean time, while the plot line took a dark turn, everyone around me, and I mean EVERYONE, strangers, family, friends, friend of friends, old friends, and even people I didn't get along with, rallied around me to make sure this Christmas with my children was one for the memory books. My nurses and doctors at EVERY doctors office I go to, my sons teachers, old friends from high school, family friends, local businesses and even some complete strangers donated gifts, food, and money to the go fund me page my Aunt set up to help with medical bills and to secure a little bit of financial stability for my kids. The support has been utterly breathtaking and overwhelming. Everybody going out of their way to set up special activities for my kids and I to enjoy as a family and make memories. Everyone going out of their way to make sure the kids and myself, don't go without this Christmas. I am Gobsmacked. I have no words that can truly express the gratitude I feel; how thankful I Truly am. How lucky my kids are to be thought of and loved by so many people.
I woke up yesterday morning (Christmas Eve), a complete and total mess. The reality of this being the last Christmas with my kids, hit me like a million bricks. I cried a lot throughout the day, and was just, sad. I was supposed to be happy. Everyone went out of their way to make sure me and my children are nothing but happy this Christmas, and here I am, unable to hold my shit together. I feel more and more sicker every day. My skin is so dry that no matter how much lotion I apply, it doesn't help. My face is exploding with crazy cystic acne that I NEVER had to deal with before Chemotherapy. It hurts to breathe, laugh, hug my children. Eating is a game of Russian roulette for I never know if I am going to be able to keep down what I eat. I barely sleep, and when I do its damn near all day to catch up on the hours of sleep I have lost throughout the week.
I Do Not Want To Die. I always pictured myself watching my babies grow into great human beings, and having their own babies. This is not something I ever wanted my kids to experience.
However, I Do Not Want To Keep Living if all it means is pain. Every day I see so much happiness around me in my babies, because they are still too young and innocent to understand what dying means. Meanwhile, everyone else around me is watching me die. Staying positive for me because accepting death is taboo in our culture. Watching my loved ones going through their own type of pain because they are forced to slap smiles on their faces while watching me suffer from the pain. A vicious cycle of every one slapping on figurative masks to protect each other from how we are all feeling.
I Do Not Want To Die, however I know it is what is coming. I feel it in my body. I feel it. All I can do for this moment in time, is spend every waking second of this Christmas day, making memories with Royce and Nola. I want them to remember Mommy, and not just the shell of the person she once was.
I hope everyone has a beautiful Christmas. And Thank You, to every single person, no matter their contribution, for helping me make these memories with my kids. Your kindness will FOREVER be remembered.
-Jo
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