I Was the World’s Worst Cancer Mom
The cancer ward (and my Insta feed) were filled with picture-perfect moms moving heaven and earth for their sick kids. Meanwhile, I spiraled into heavy drinking, depression and self-destruction.
My truck pulled to the right, barreling over the rumble strip as my eyes drifted closed. By the time I hit the highway’s guardrail, my chin was on my chest. I snapped out of the haze of my hangover just as my truck jolted against the concrete barrier. I yanked the wheel to the left, overcorrecting so hard my tires spit gravel. If there had been a car in the middle lane, I would have broadsided them.
I drove the rest of the way to the hospital with all four windows rolled down, the cold night air slapping my face raw. My spine was so straight it ached and the seatbelt dug into my chest. “Control,” I repeated to myself over and over, letting my fingers turn white with the force of my grip on the wheel as Taylor Swift blared out of the speakers at full volume to keep me awake. Control, control, control.
When I finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, my hands were shaking and my stomach churned. A sour heat crawled up my thr…