“Come, Mr. Frodo! I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you.”

I owe everyone a huge thank you for the many, many supportive thoughts and words and prayers that have been sent our way. We’re doing OK. Or as well as anyone can be expected to be doing in this scenario. We’re working our way through our feelings (over and over again), talking through them when we get upset, and trying to distract ourselves when we need to. 

It’s been a few weeks now, since we got the bad news. Things have been rough and they’ve been fine and they’ve been impossible and they’ve even been good. We’re continuing to live life, mostly as we did before, it’s just that now we have these bursts of really hard moments. We’ll be going on as normal and then BOOM something will trigger bad thoughts and tears. Sometimes it’s quick and goes away and we’re fine. Sometimes it leads to depression and couch-wallowing. Sometimes it leads to really shitty conversations, where we tell each other the darkest thoughts that have been going through our heads. And it helps. It really does help to say those things out loud, as hard as it is. To share that burden. 

The day we got the news, I had a panic attack. Not at the doctor’s office, not in the car, but once we got home and I had lots of time to think about how this, and everything that might eventually stem from this, was going to affect everyone that I love, and how was I going to plan for that, and how could I make it easier for everyone, and I eventually started sobbing and hyperventilating and shuffled into the living room to find Joe. I curled up on the couch next to him and he let me cry into his shirt until I was done, and then I cried some more, and then I just felt...spent. 

I know I wrote before that I felt guilty sharing my sad news with everyone, like I was ruining their day. This happened the first time, too. I wrote at the time that I felt like a little, dark cloud. I’m struggling with even sharing this, knowing that people may worry, but I want to be honest, especially if it might help someone else who is struggling with something that feels impossible. 

The thing is, every time we’ve had to share this news, I'm riddled with anxiety beforehand, but I feel better afterward. The anxiety stems from knowing it will be a hard conversation and, of course, that I’m going to make people sad and then I’ll be feeling their feelings along with my own, and my own are already so hard to carry. But after I tell someone, every time it’s over, I feel this sense of calm fall over me. Every time I share these hard things, I feel a bit lighter. A bit more capable of moving forward. Because you’ve all allowed me to share the burden. 

I’ve never been good at asking for or accepting help. Last year, when I was initially diagnosed, I did get better at allowing myself to accept help when offered (though, admittedly, still not great). This time? I know I have to get more comfortable asking for what I need. And for now, it’s helping immensely to be able to share this shit journey with all of you. To know there are people walking beside me, able to help and to listen, and willing to take on some of what I’m carrying. 

And whenever I start to feel overwhelmed, I think of something my brilliant friend Megan said to me after hearing my news: 

“We’re Samwise, baby. Share the load.”