Michelle Underwood

Casey started IV chemo again today. The targeted therapies stopped working and the cancer kept growing in his liver, so this seemed like the best option – if you can call chemo “best.” But you know, he hasn’t had full-on poison pumped into his body for four years, so I guess it was probably time.

I’ve been really sad. Sad that he’s sick, sad in anticipation of side effects, sad that we spend something like eight hundred and eleventy percent of our time in the hospital. Ugh. Sad is such a poor adjective for how I really feel, but I’m honestly too tired to think of a better one or to click open a new tab and look one up. But I digress! I was really sad…until 20 minutes ago when I had to talk to insurance for the fifth or sixth time today and magically! I’m not feeling so sad anymore. There’s something about dealing with insurance, with people who don’t know your husband or anything about him or his health, but somehow get to decide whether or not his treatment is “medically necessary” that just flips that switch from sadness to pure, unadulterated rage. It’s probably hard to tell because you can’t hear the angry clacking of the keys or see the fire nearly burning up my screen as I type, but I’m freaking irate.

And because of the issue with which toxic drugs are allowed to be pumped into his body, we’re just sitting here in a hospital room waiting. Waiting for pre-approval. Waiting for communication between doctors and nurses and financial divisions and insurance. Waiting for drugs. Waiting to wait some more later. Waiting to get on with life. And it’s so frustrating because there’s nothing I can do besides call people over and over until I’ve annoyed the shit out of them. And like, Listen, Brenda. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but don’t you dare take that tone with me – I’m just trying to advocate for my husband who has CANCER and who isn’t getting all of the drugs he needs because you didn’t send the paperwork when you were supposed to.

Yesterday, everyone was all bummed and I made them take a shot “for Casey and kicking cancer’s ass” and another “to family” and today I’m a special kind of hot mess. I can’t decide which emotion is worse: sadness or anger. I guess either are better than the weird floaty numbness I usually feel. I thought about apologizing for being such a huge bummer today. I even started typing “sorry,” but I kind of think I’m allowed to be what I am – circumstances being what they are and all. So, this is who I am now. For right now at least. Until I’m not.

Now, I know you’re all beautiful, wonderful people who want to tell me all kinds of beautiful, wonderful things and try to make me feel better, but do me a favor, would ya? Don’t. Not today. Save your sweetness and positivity for tomorrow. Today I just need you to let me be angry. Feel whatever you want, but let me be what I am. Also, if you want to join me, I’m here for that. All are welcome.

Except for you, Brenda – you can GFY.

**Side note: If you message, email, text, or comment and we don’t reply, please know we saw and appreciated it. Sometimes it’s just hard to respond. Love y’all (except Brenda, obvi).