When the OTHER SHOE drops….

I can't say I'm at an advanced mel stage right now, I'm at an earlier stage.  But, I too, always feel like I'm just waiting. . waiting for the other shoe to drop, certain that it will at some point.  It's mentally exhausting day after day, month after month, year. . . . .

I can't say I'm at an advanced mel stage right now, I'm at an earlier stage.  But, I too, always feel like I'm just waiting. . waiting for the other shoe to drop, certain that it will at some point.  It's mentally exhausting day after day, month after month, year. . . . .

I can't say I'm at an advanced mel stage right now, I'm at an earlier stage.  But, I too, always feel like I'm just waiting. . waiting for the other shoe to drop, certain that it will at some point.  It's mentally exhausting day after day, month after month, year. . . . .

I lost my husband to Melanoma May 28, 2011.  He had a mole removed mid back Feb 2009, went stage IV March 2010.  I found a wonderful therapist who was able to help us immensely.  I would make that recommendation to you.  Reach out for help from someone who has professional training.

I lost my husband to Melanoma May 28, 2011.  He had a mole removed mid back Feb 2009, went stage IV March 2010.  I found a wonderful therapist who was able to help us immensely.  I would make that recommendation to you.  Reach out for help from someone who has professional training.

I lost my husband to Melanoma May 28, 2011.  He had a mole removed mid back Feb 2009, went stage IV March 2010.  I found a wonderful therapist who was able to help us immensely.  I would make that recommendation to you.  Reach out for help from someone who has professional training.

I lost my husband to Melanoma May 28, 2011.  He had a mole removed mid back Feb 2009, went stage IV March 2010.  I found a wonderful therapist who was able to help us immensely.  I would make that recommendation to you.  Reach out for help from someone who has professional training.

I lost my husband to Melanoma May 28, 2011.  He had a mole removed mid back Feb 2009, went stage IV March 2010.  I found a wonderful therapist who was able to help us immensely.  I would make that recommendation to you.  Reach out for help from someone who has professional training.

I lost my husband to Melanoma May 28, 2011.  He had a mole removed mid back Feb 2009, went stage IV March 2010.  I found a wonderful therapist who was able to help us immensely.  I would make that recommendation to you.  Reach out for help from someone who has professional training.

I know what you’re talking about with Zel especially. I have 3 school age kids and have been battling 2.5 years now. It is hard. My best recommendation for myself anyway is to Thank God for today, get up, (if i can!), stop thinking about myself, and DO something, even one little thing, for someone else – like even just calling or emailing someone else to see how they are doing. I’m also volunteering for Miles for Melanoma in our area which makes me feel great!! None of us gets out of here alive, it’s a fact. Also, get meds if you need them. No shame in asking for a little help. You ARE blessed!

I know what you’re talking about with Zel especially. I have 3 school age kids and have been battling 2.5 years now. It is hard. My best recommendation for myself anyway is to Thank God for today, get up, (if i can!), stop thinking about myself, and DO something, even one little thing, for someone else – like even just calling or emailing someone else to see how they are doing. I’m also volunteering for Miles for Melanoma in our area which makes me feel great!! None of us gets out of here alive, it’s a fact. Also, get meds if you need them. No shame in asking for a little help. You ARE blessed!

I know what you’re talking about with Zel especially. I have 3 school age kids and have been battling 2.5 years now. It is hard. My best recommendation for myself anyway is to Thank God for today, get up, (if i can!), stop thinking about myself, and DO something, even one little thing, for someone else – like even just calling or emailing someone else to see how they are doing. I’m also volunteering for Miles for Melanoma in our area which makes me feel great!! None of us gets out of here alive, it’s a fact. Also, get meds if you need them. No shame in asking for a little help. You ARE blessed!

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

 

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

 

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

 

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

 

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

 

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

 

Gail

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I am Stage 4 (met to sacrum) and have been NED now for 4 years. It is a constant struggle mentally to deal with the possibility of a recurrance. With time, it becomes easier to deal with it, but the thought is always there. The advice that I live by (and give to family members that are faced with cancer) is to live one day at a time. Set goals (short term at first) for things to accomplish. I started out by just having the goal of getting through the day as if I didn't have MM. Gradually, I have made and kept longer term goals, and I am now making a goal of what I (and my wife) want to do when we are both retired. I am making the plans, but the thought is always there, that I might not be there to share it with her. Bottom line is to live one day at a time, and keep fighting the mel. No matter how long each of us has in this life, keep fighting and don't let the mel rule how you enjoy the time you've got. This site helps, as there are many on here that have been Stage 4 for 5, 10, 20 years and more. You are not alone.

I am Stage 4 (met to sacrum) and have been NED now for 4 years. It is a constant struggle mentally to deal with the possibility of a recurrance. With time, it becomes easier to deal with it, but the thought is always there. The advice that I live by (and give to family members that are faced with cancer) is to live one day at a time. Set goals (short term at first) for things to accomplish. I started out by just having the goal of getting through the day as if I didn't have MM. Gradually, I have made and kept longer term goals, and I am now making a goal of what I (and my wife) want to do when we are both retired. I am making the plans, but the thought is always there, that I might not be there to share it with her. Bottom line is to live one day at a time, and keep fighting the mel. No matter how long each of us has in this life, keep fighting and don't let the mel rule how you enjoy the time you've got. This site helps, as there are many on here that have been Stage 4 for 5, 10, 20 years and more. You are not alone.

I am Stage 4 (met to sacrum) and have been NED now for 4 years. It is a constant struggle mentally to deal with the possibility of a recurrance. With time, it becomes easier to deal with it, but the thought is always there. The advice that I live by (and give to family members that are faced with cancer) is to live one day at a time. Set goals (short term at first) for things to accomplish. I started out by just having the goal of getting through the day as if I didn't have MM. Gradually, I have made and kept longer term goals, and I am now making a goal of what I (and my wife) want to do when we are both retired. I am making the plans, but the thought is always there, that I might not be there to share it with her. Bottom line is to live one day at a time, and keep fighting the mel. No matter how long each of us has in this life, keep fighting and don't let the mel rule how you enjoy the time you've got. This site helps, as there are many on here that have been Stage 4 for 5, 10, 20 years and more. You are not alone.