tigerscub

My name is Kayla Trudy Ryan, before i start, please as you read, if nothing else but as a favor from a stranger read til the end.  Throughout my life i suffered abuse, eating disorders, i for many years suffered unknown mental health issues, and suffered huge losses in my life. I want to be very clear, I mention the above not for any sympathy or pity, but I believe its where i found my passion for writing, as it gave me a voice that was mute but exploding on paper. At the age of 43 my older half sister was diagnosed with breast cancer, her living in the united states, with their healthcare being very different than ours, genetically found she was genetically predisposed to BRCA 1, inherited genetic mutations BRCA1 and BRCA2 most notably increase the risk of female breast and ovarian cancers, and male breast and prostate cancers, but they have also been associated with increased risks of several additional types of cancer. Basically long story short she inherited from our fathers genetics, and at his time of being tested, i had turned 18, and was offered to be tested at the same time, which later i found out i was to this day my genetic counselors and my onocologists youngest patient ever diagnosed with possessing this gene.  In 2012 I at the age of 20 and my beautiful half sister at 46, to whom i cared for in her last 3 months of fighting breast cancer. In 2013 my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer, to which he fought like hell and kicked cancers ass, In 2014 my mom was diagnosed with stage 4 cervical cancer and thankfully she fought hard, through many complications and kicked cancers ass.  But in April 2016, my father was diagnosed with a form of extremely rare terminal cancer, about a year prior we had mended a broken relationship, he was my best friend. December 2016 I turned 25, and had a routine appointment with my oncologist, I knew at 25 our health care system would give me some form of preventive options to my risks. I found out that day, my own percentage, calculated through many factors, was 85% by the age of 30, I that day made a decision, I had truly contemplated all along, i made the arrangements to have a prophylactic double mastectomy, (Prophylactic mastectomy is surgery to remove one or both breasts to reduce the risk of developing breast cancer), because for one i was finally in a place with my mental illnesses where they were diagnosed and stable, and i had a will to live, but mostly so my father would 1) know I wouldn't die the same cruel way he already lost a daughter 2) It was my promise id be here to protect my mom and sister later when he could no longer be here. On june 2nd i recieved my surgery, though many cant understand why at such a young age i would alter my body, it to this day has never once crossed my mind as a regret. Back to my father once he was diagnosed, though never wanted to believe it, fought like hell, i gave him the nickname tiger one day during a round of chemo, trying to figuratively give him the image that though he could give up knowing this cruel disease would end up taking him from us, that like a tiger in jungle, no matter the odds will always protect there young, even when defeat is inevitable. In sept 2018 my ex left me, still healing and recovering from not only my surgery, but a broken ankle a month after my surgery, I went directly from my breakup to at first staying with my parents for support and company(though i keeping my own apartment til this day), and then realized how badly my dad was declining, and slowly it became normal i stayed there, and though truly as the decline continued he needed someone there, more and more, i realize now I needed it. On january 18th 2018 at 2:43 am my tiger, my hero, my dad, was taken from us, i can not use the phrases lost his battle or was defeated by the cruel disease, because he fought so hard to stay, that the only way i phrase it was he was taken from us. In the last months of his life, my mom worked nights 12am-8pm at a local hospital, so i was "the night shift warden," which was his way of putting humor on what he really meant his company and care giver. The trust love and relationship in total that was given to me from him was a gift i was not worthy to recieve, he would never let my mom do anything for him, though she couldnt see it, it wasnt pride, it was because he could not let her down in his head, and he had to continue to protect her, for some reason he let me in, he would let me help him with the littlest things to at the end picking him up after he would constantly fall from muscle loss in his legs. The reason i share all this is because, i am suffering a great loss, and truly the grief overwhelms me sometimes to the point i dont know if ill be able to make it another moment without him here, but when I feel like that, i go to my one safety zone, in my head, and i get lost in one thing he loved about me most, my writing.