May 20th, 2007

Writing this blog doesn't seem to get any easier with time.  I suppose the difficultly lies in knowing you are writing about yourself in relation to the impending death of someone very close to you.  In order to overcome this difficulty, my brother Jesse suggested that I write a bit about myself in order to introduce me to you.  I am finding this exceptionally difficult as well.  I have only tried to write about myself once before.  That was when my brother-in-law suggested I join lavalife to meet people.  After five months, I had one date.  I am hoping to have more success with this (upon rereading this, it does not sound right.  By success, I mean attention to carciniod, not dates for me).
As I have written before, I am the third eldest.  As a child, I was a bit of a handful.  You know those children that need to be constantly told what the lines are and not to cross them.  Well, I was that child.  I was the one who constantly crossed the line simply for the sake of seeing how far I could get, and what the result each time was for crossing it.  To me, it was a game.  To my parents, family members and others who I played it with, it was a form of torture.  I think my parents tried every form of traditional discipline on me.  They quickly learned that I had a very vivid imagination so that toys or no toys really did not decrease how much I enjoyed life.  Grounding me from going outside did temporarily put a damper on things, but then I learned how to climb down from the second story balcony.  Everything they tried either had no effect or only temporarily deterred me from crossing the line once again.  Thinking about it now, I wonder what I would have done with a child like me.  
The truth is, I probably would have given up 'the game' at a much earlier age if not for two things.  One, I always seemed to get a reaction out of at least one person.  And two, I quickly came to understand that no matter what I did wrong, my parents would always love me, forgive me and be there for me.  
Just so you know, I did eventually give up and stop tormenting my parents.  It happened when my older brother, Stephen, went off to university.  Until then, he always had to be the responsible son, the man of the house when my dad was gone.  He carried the responsibility of being the role model to the younger boys while I was the example of what not to do,  However just before Stephen left, he relegated to me the responsibilities of the eldest son. I now know I would not have so willingly accepted this responsibility if I had known what it entailed.
I think back on this part of my childhood now because carcinoid does not seem to adhere to any lines.  I moved home after my trip to South America because I thought there would be a prognosis that would give carcinoid some sort of boundary.  I hoped that a line would be drawn, and that it would remain there.  I left 8 months later, frustrated and angry because I could not accept the disease and what it was doing.  Nor could I accept my reaction to it.  It did not have a clearly defined boundary.  There was no line that it could be pushed back to and continually held there.  I was disgusted with it and with myself.
I also think about this because I wonder what my life will be like without the unconditional love of my mother.  Even as an adult, I still rely upon her for support, advice, compassion, and love regardless of what I have done or how I feel.  I am not ready to cross that line. 

My name is Ben. I am the third eldest Blackwood. I was not sure what to write or where to begin. I have decided to begin by sharing a journal entry from the time my mom was diagnosed with carcinoid. At that time, I was coming to the end of a three month trip though Peru, Bolivia and Argentina.

Dec 7, 2005

I am still in South America and have yet to make an entry since the end of October. I guess, at this point, I feel I will remember most of the events and people, no doubt, some memories and emotions will be lost, but chances are I will never read anything I have written anyhow.
Today my mom had her appendix and ovaries removed. I talked to my dad for the first time since I left Arequipa. It is definite that she has carcinoid. They have not located it (other than in her appendix and ovaries) or know the extent of it, but she has cancer.
I've read that with most cases a person lives up till 5-10 years after the symptoms present themselves. Maybe a person can live longer, but then maybe they will live for a shorter period of time?
I do not want my mother to die. Maybe she will live for another 20 years. Maybe they will find the cancer and remove it. Maybe they will find a cure. However it seems that both are not very likely.
There is prayer and fear.
What will my father do? Anna? Joseph? Davey? What will I do?
Maybe it will draw us closer. Or will it push us apart?
A big part of me really doesn't believe it. There is biochemical evidence, but no other physically seen cancer. The scans are suspect, but nothing actually visible. I don't want her to die.
I want to cry and I don't want to cry. It reminds me of when we left PEI. I did not cry then, neither did my mother.