Prologue

I started to title this God won't put any more on me than I can bear because that I the subject matter for what I plan on writing about. I will warn you, this will be a lengthy blog but it will really help to see who I am. Due to needing this in chronological order I messed with the dates but I will always list what happened when and most of these posts will be written March 2011. When I get all the stuff out that happened in the past, I will switch to the present and I will let the readers know when that happens.
So what is the purpose of this blog? Well, there are several. One that is probably the reason I started this is I have no one I can tell my story, the whole story, without embarrassing myself, hurting my family and when it comes down to it, I don't have one person in my life except maybe my therapist, that I would even want to share it with. It is too personal but on the other hand, I am tired of all this stuff collecting and spinning around in my head. So I want you the reader to read this. All of it. Comment, criticize, whatever, but do read it, and you will see me and know me better than anyone I know personally. I desperately want to be known and understood. I want to make connections with fellow human beings. My life these days is desperately lonely at times and just to know someone read my story and gives a crap means everything to me. I also want somehow share my story so that others may be blessed and God may be glorified. If I help one person somehow through my experiences, then I feel like my life has been worthwhile.
This isn't an honest to goodness autobiography. Don't get me wrong. Everything in this story is true, although names have been changed just to give it some anonymity. But I will not really talk much about my childhood. It was happy and uneventful enough. And, other than some teasing about my weight, and never having gone out on a date, I survived K-12 with my happy go lucky, optomistic idealistic spirit in tact. I will touch on college, but the bulk is from age 29 to the present. Because that is the time when my world was flipped upside down and yet I survived. Or at least I am surviving. The ending has not been written for any of us, yet.
And lastly, briefly, I cannot go further without stating, Jesus is my savior. We all are sinners by birthright and by choice. That sin debt had to be paid, or we would all burn in Hell for eternity. But God sent his son Jesus, who was also God, I guess the way cats are cats and dogs are dogs, the trinity's species is God. That is the best way I know how to describe it, anyway Jesus died for our sins and paid the debt none of us could pay ourselves. You can't be good enough for heaven. Even the whitest sheep is dingy compared to the purest white. That is how our goodness stacks up against the almighty God. We are like dirty laundry, but Jesus wants to change our lives and if we will only repent of this sin nature, that just means to acknowledge it and be sorry, recognize and accept Jesus' awesome gift. We will be born again and live for eternity in heaven. And I am not talking about a place where we float on clouds with harps. That is boring. We are going to be perfect, Blissfully happy, never hurt, physically or emotionally, always have a reason for being, a reason to exist, a reason for rejoicing. We will know love, love like we never experienced on earth. We will never want for anything. Never need anything we can't have. And we will have the one person who we can depend on face to face. I don't know about you, but I can't wait to go there! I hope to meet you there.
                                                                                                       Miss Tunstall

Chapter One - Intro to a fairy tale gone horribly wrong

 I will give you a little info about myself. I am 30 years old, single, never even been kissed. I have struggled with my weight my whole life and that has made me somewhat retarded socially. Up until I was 29 years old, I was kind of a head in the clouds happy go lucky person. My mother was my best friend, my co dependent partner, and my everything.
I tried to be "normal" I got a college education after sampling about every major there was to offer, and settling on religious studies because, hey when all else fails it never hurts to learn more about Jesus and other religions so I can witness to them better, right? To this day I have no earthly clue what career I want, if I can ever work again, but I am getting ahead of myself.
I have a history of mental illness, although if you looked at my family long enough I think you would find I am one of the sane ist (if that is a word.) Basically, I was your typical someday my prince will come if I lose enough weight and become a pretty enough, successful enough, fill in the blank. Terrified of responsibility because my mother always did things for me I began to believe I wasn't capable of most things. My social anxiety made it such that working outside my home became pretty difficult and I never had a full time job longer than 6 months. I had frequent bouts of depression, but my mother took care of me and I knew unconditional love. That is the most precious commodity that we often take for granted.
Most of my time was spent planning this future that would be amazing. Wedding dresses, children's names, decor and interior design out of magazines, even home school curriculum and private schools. I would imagine this perfect ever after life I was going to have. I would do crafts, own animals, have a loving husband, and be a homemaker. I designed wedding dress after wedding dress. I clipped out clothes from magazines that I would wear when I was thin.I sang a lot. Music is a big part of my life. I love everything from Mozart to Mariah Carey. I sang in church, had private lessons in college and music became a very large chunk of my identity. I may be a lot of things but I can sure sing.Singing and writing and reading are the three biggest things in my life, at least up to this point. Runescape is up there pretty high now lol but I digress.  I had all these obsessions, fueled by novels I read, places I wanted to visit. Never did I really get that we make our lives what they are, they usually don't just happen, and that happily ever after isn't really a city or country on this planet.

Chapter Two, A birth and a trip to ER..not the show.

Two events stand out as the real changing moments of my life. The first I didn't recognize as such... My niece whom I will call Lissie was born August 2003. My sister whom I will call Theresa was married to a bad guy for 10 years, had a child with him whom I will call Ella, and got hooked on prescription drugs, he divorced her and the rest was a downward spiral. She got involved with creep after creep until one creep knocked her up. I moved in with her temporarily to help out and after 3 days, took Lissie back to my mother so Theresa could rest some. As a result or maybe as a consequence, I don't think she ever truly bonded with her. She took her for occasional visits until at the age of 3 weeks while in Theresa's care, was present when her father tried to kill her mother. At that point Lissie really became ours. I had so many plans and dreams for her. When she was 3 1/2 we learned she was autistic. That really was hard because I wanted the same kind of relationship I had with my other nieces, and while she is very loving and we are blessed she isn't more severe, she can't really give back the same level of affection and bonding. Also, it makes her a ton more work and you have to think of things you wouldn't with a typical child. She practically has to have someone watching her every minute because she can be very distructive, and while she has some language, it is hard to communicate with her, and sometimes, it can be very stressful to be around her, especially for someone with anxiety issues. Sometimes just listening to her can stress me out, as she can be very loud and will have tantrums over the smallest things.

August 26th, 2009 will stand out as the other  life changing day... or the start of a lifechanging period you might say. Up to this point, I had a part time job, played games online, watched my niece sometimes for my mom, played with my cat, until he died the previous summer, and was basically oblivious to the turmoil around me. I had a few dreams...I was going to get a job, maybe go back and get my masters and be a librarian.

The bulk of that summer was spent finally learning to drive. I actually ended up getting my license august 2010 because some things got in the way but it was the first time I really got over my fears and started enjoying driving.

The first thing I noticed that summer was an increased sex drive. I did things I was ashamed of as a Christian. I am a virgin in the sense that matters, but I masturbated internally and externally, had cyber sex, and watched porn and read erotica. However, orgasms were becoming increasingly a mixture of pleasure and pain. I didn't think much of it, after all, what did I have to compare it to?

I lost 10 pounds. yay! I thought. Maybe my metabolism is speeding up. Then I had nausea that was so slight and gradual it really wasn't detectable. I would have moments of I don't feel so good, and as soon as it came over me it went.. Then I started having gagging spells in the morning. I joked I might be the only virgin who gets morning sickness. 

The other thing I noticed is my periods were getting more painful, heavier, and longer. I had just been switched to a stronger birth control pill to regulate because I was having a lot of breakthrough bleeding even while on lutera.

But on this day, everything came to a head. I remember waking up from a nap and getting up to get ready for work. I had this sudden sharp pain that made me double over it was so bad. I went to sit on the toilet and I had a bowel movement but I couldn't push or anything. The pain was so great it was like as the poop went through my colon it was stabbing me.After I was done I just lay on the bed sobbing it hurt so much. My mother immediately thought I could be having appendicitis based on the location of the pain, intermittent nausea and a slight fever so I went to the ER more worried about the fact I was uninsured than anything else. I had people pound on my stomach repeatedly (does that hurt, how bout this) it was like a black comedy, I really must have a twisted sense of humor because I look back on that ER visit and laugh. I was sent down for a CT. It showed some kind of mass but "we don't know where it is coming from, it could be infection from your appendix, it could be a fibroid tumor, we just don't know but your uterus might need to be removed" that last comment made me angry because a man said it and I felt like saying how would you feel if someone told you nonchalantly that your testicles might need removing? Anyway,  so they sent me down for an ultrasound. I conveniently left out the fact I was a virgin because I wanted them to do whatever they needed to do to get to the bottom of this so I let them put the wand thingy up me (after all, I seriously doubted I had any hymen left) and this "mass" was blocking the view of my left ovary, they couldn't see it no matter what they did. So the next step was an MRI. This is probably the most humorous part of this 32 hour ER visit. I go in and I swear he was a dead ringer for that indian dude on Heroes. beautiful english accent and I kinda dug him lol. Anyway, He put earphones over my ears because the MRI can be loud and I kid you not, the song that came on the radio as my back is killing me from having to be still while my side is throbbing intermittently and I am contemplating what the heck could be wrong with me was "if I lay here...If I just lay here...would you lie with me and just forget the world?" or otherwise known to Grey's fans as Denny's song (the song playing when Izzie is laying next to Denny's dead body... yeah major fan... anyway) Isn't that rather hillarious?

So to wrap up this segment of my story, a very sweet Russian doctor was fighting tooth and nail to rush me into surgery but money matters won the day. I was uninsured. I had to apply for a special insurance the hospital had for low income people before they would do anything. They told me it was one of those things they couldn't really diagnose without an exploratory laparotomy. So into the quagmire of medical insurance bureaucracy I went.

Chapter Three - money matters and being filleted.

So we last saw me leaving a bizarre E.R. I had my insurance appt 3 weeks later. By that time the nausea had turned to vomiting.Also the "mass:" had a life of its own and would get twisted somehow causing intense pain and it pushed against my intestines causing me to feel very sick all the time. I did qualifiy for the insurance and went back to the e.r. thinking, ok I am insured now so lets get this baby out. For some reason it has to be in the computer first. My Russian Dr did her best and she sent me home with her personal cell # to update her about my condition.
For the next two weeks I was a real wreck. I only later found out how close to death I was. I was bleeding profusely from an 18 day period each month, combined with my now 30 pound weight loss due to not eating and vomiting, my hematocrit was down to 22.7 indicating severe anemia.I think being obese worked in my favor a little because I had the weight to spare. Finally, I get the call. Surgery is tomorrow. come in right now for pre op.
I was so weak I collapsed in a ball of dry heaving a few feet from where I was supposed to go. I was vomiting bile into a sweat shirt because I was too weak to go to the bathroom. I then went home to somehow drink go lightly. nasty bowel prep makes me nauseous just thinking about it. I managed 5 glasses then vomited. Luckily I hadn't eaten solid food in 2 weeks so bowel prep was really not very necessary.
At the last minute my dr ordered a D&C  due to the amount of vaginal bleeding so I awoke 4 and a half hours later actually hungry! and even broth was delicious! I awoke to some bad news. They had to remove my left ovary with the fibroid tumor, but I still had a shot at having kids. No cancer was visable and I was going to be fine. My first stay in a hospital was a pleasant experience. Lots of nice drugs, friendly nurses and concerned family and friends. That week was one of the nicest in my life. I saw old friends I hadn't seen in years and I was the center of attention for a little bit.
I got a phone call exactly 1 week from my surgery from my Russian doctor. How are you feeling? She asks me. I told her I am healing faster than I even thought and felt much better. She pauses and says you are going to need another surgery I'm sorry. I am a little confused and I say ok, she says you will need a hysterectomy. report to oncology tomorrow.
All I could think about was no kids to name...no babies to breastfeed no strong yet gentle son to take care of me when I get old...Then it hit me...I have cancer.

Chapter Four - mortality, miracles, and a really big hole.

I now had a new identity. Cancer patient. somehow it was comforting. I wasn't this girl who had arrested development and morbidly obese and nothing really special, I was special because I might die. Everyone came out of the woodwork to give me food, prayer quilts, all kind of attention and love. For about a month I really grieved the loss of ever having biological children. Then something very strange happened to me. I didn't want children anymore. I didn't want the responsibility of one day dying and leaving them. I didn't want to ruin a child. I didn't feel like I could give a child anything they needed. I felt like a child myself. I figured if I ever "grew up" and got married I might want to adopt, but I was happy to put that on the shelf for now.
My oncology appointment was a little scary. I had talked myself into believing the night before that  they probably would get it all. Probably just a smidgen of cancer, nothing to worry about. "your D&C revealed cancer cells in the endometrial lining. We won't know much beyond that until we remove your uterus, but you have stage 1C ovarian cancer and we found a 1cm carcinoma on your appendix."
The second I heard the appendix I thought, oh Lord, it has spread already, I might actually die... and the other scary fact... I woudn't just need surgery. I would also have chemo. I would lose my hair. You have to understand that since I was around 18 I was addicted to hair salons. I kept getting it cut because it takes too long to grow out and I needed pick me ups. It made me feel beautiful. Well that whole year I had really committed to growing my hair out and I had finally gotten it past my shoulders and I loved the length. Now I was going to lose it.
So I was scheduled for the second surgery and I have to say, it hurt a whole lot more and they gave me less drugs... go figure. I eventually found out some rather shocking news. I had 3 separate cancers....all stage 1. The odds of that happening are very very very rare. Which means I probably have the brca gene or lynch syndrome... in a nutshell my genes are rubbish.
So after I got home I developed a bad infection called cellulitis and was put on strong antibiotics. Also, to add insult to injury, I can't have kids but yet I start producing milk. They still don't know why that happened but I had a good bit of milk for about a week. Probably hormones being jostled around combined with stress.
So Then they took the remaining staples out and said, we are going to have to open this... I didn't know what they meant until I saw them take a Q tip and start swishing it around until I had a hole in me the size of a silver dollar and about 2 inches deep. For the next 3 1/2 months or so we had to pack that hole and clean it. I call that the waiting period. Waiting for chemo, waiting to get on with my life. Just taking it easy, doing what I want and never having to worry about a thing. I didn't realize it, but the biggest challenges, and sorrow were ahead of me still.

Chapter Five -Closing the hole, Chemo, and Catastrophe

Finally towards the end of January 2010, I was finally healed up. I had a portacath placement surgery, which was the funnest surgery to date. I was in twilight sleep and kept waking myself up snoring. It really didn't hurt more than when you sleep wrong and your shoulder is sore. Meanwhile my mother had been having some pain in her side for months. One Dr told her she probably cracked a rib and to go home and tape it up. Finally a dr ordered a chest x-ray. She had a mass in her lung the size of a lemon. So while I was having my first chemo, she was having a biopsy.
First I want to discuss Chemo. Initially, besides some boredom, actually having it pumped into you isn't bad. I got to be close to my chemo nurse and it is hard to complain when you are relatively healthy and you see all these people on death's door. For about the first week following chemo I experienced massive indigestion, like when you eat cold greasy chicken and burp up that unpleasant taste. Also my skin on my face got red and uncomfortable. Not as bad as a sunburn but maybe like windburn. And it was rather waxy. I wasn't fully prepared for the joint pain and fatigue but it passed in a couple days. Fatigue was something I lived with every day of this journey but sometimes in those few days following each chemo I barely had enough strength to move a computer mouse. Basically it was 1 week feeling like crap, and 2 weeks recovering from feeling like crap. Then it started over again. However I had no nausea or vomiting during the first 3 of the 6 treatments.
My mother's first biopsy was inconclusive. I thought, well that means it probably isn't cancer or is only slightly cancerous or it would have shown up. I don't know if I was selfish, or just too full of my own battle, but I never for a moment worried about my mom during this stage. I had my head shaved in March once my hair started coming out in clumps. I enjoyed my hats and scarves. The wigs never felt natural. I actually didn't look all that bad bald, but still it was a shock and really hard on my self esteem. I didn't feel like a woman anymore. My eyebrows thinned and eventually fell out. Then my lashes. When my lashes came out that is when I was the most depressed. Mascara out of all cosmetics has always done the most for me. To this day, my lashes aren't as long and thick as they were before chemo.
In mid March, 2010, my mom had her second biopsy. I don't know if they told her more than she shared but she basically said it is cancer. I don't know anything else than that. Even then I didn't panic right away. Maybe she will go through treatment with me. Even if they can't cure it people have lived years in treatment. I just wanted some time. Some real time to be with her and say goodbye. But more than that, I needed time to instantly grow up and be responsible. I also was feeling some rather shameful feelings. I felt upstaged to a certain extent. I had cancer, and I couldn't be special and have that to myself. I was in a very weak state and here I now have to deal with the mortality of the most important person in my life. My dad and brother are very weak people and my mom was everyone's all in all.
It all came to a head around April 15th. That was D day. The day we would find out the worst. She had stage 3B Lung cancer. Statistically the 50% margin where 50% with that stage are alive and 50% are dead was 13 months. But that means 50 out of 100 are still alive. She could live years. I started the bargaining process with God. Give me 5 years please. I will get a job when chemo is over and I am stronger and I will figure things out. A lot can happen in 5 years. The rapture could happen...yes Lord, please rapture us before my mom dies. If that isn't in your plan please give me 3 years... 3 years would really help. This process went over and over in the months to come, but basically the main point was she was going to die, I was not. I so wanted it to be the other way around. I had to become strong even in the midst of something debilitating like chemotherapy. I was no longer the patient, even though I felt like it. I had to be the caregiver. That was not a role I wanted, but I was really all my mother had.

Chapter Six-surviving domestic violence

This is probably going to be the hardest chapter for me to write. I need to explain some things about my brother. He is borderline retarded. He had behavioral problems all throughout school and is like a 12 year old in a man's body. He was jealous when I was born because he had been the baby. We used to be really close when I was a kid. I saw a few violent outbursts over the years, but nothing like what I was going to go through.
Just an FYI, he had hit me before, usually one of those split second moments when you shock yourself and are so sorry afterwards. There was a time when he broke down the bedroom door to get something that belonged to him. He slapped my mother once and when I tried to get between them I was pushed into a glass mirror and it broke. We have lived in the same apartment for 16 years and I still am worried about what the landlady will say when she sees the destruction in this place.
But I never got seriously hurt in any of these altercations. Well, the day we found out about my mom's staging, the subject of Lissie got lots of play. I couldn't raise her. My mom didn't even want that for me, she wanted me to get out and have my own life. I was so sick and Daniel, my brother, kept saying, you don't have cancer anymore, you just want to be free of all of us. You are selfish, and the like. Then he exploded and started hitting me with a shoe over the head. All of the sudden, his hands were around my neck and I couldn't breathe.I think he pushed me into a wall and I hit my head, the details are fuzzy and it was over very quick. I managed to call out to my dad to call 911 and that shocked my brother to stop and he ran out of the house. What followed was he tried to kill himself, was taken by ambulance and got combative with cops, was arrested for that, but basically got away with it. My mom spent so much time consoling him and all I could think about was what about me? My head still hurt, I had a black and purple eye, I had to tell everyone I fell down the stairs. I did eventually go to the E.R. with that story and got checked out. I had a hairline skull fracture but nothing else. I went through a bad patch after that. I was afraid for my safety. I started packing up my possessions, trying to control my environment, and basically imploding in an anxiety ridden state. All I could do was worry. I cried, I had panic attacks, I think I went through a little PTSD, I don't know,  and I am still not totally back to normal, as reliving this as I write causes me to tear up. I have since forgiven my brother. As Jesus said, he knew not what he was doing. It is still hard to trust him, and I will talk more about that later, as this isn't the last time he would scare me beyond all reason.