I guess what I'm saying is that no one sneezed on my mom and gave her cancer, either. And it wasn't my fault that I was born and gave it to her either. (which is what her doctor told me the day she died, "If she hadn't of gone through pregnancy, we might have been able to save her.") But no, he was wrong. I didn't give my mom cancer. It just happened.

So, no, I didn't get bipolar from something like that. Who knows why. I don't. But my mom wasn't cancer. She couldn't get out of bed. She couldn't drive me to school. She couldn't clean house anymore or cook dinner. She stopped being able to speak or make sense when she talked. The last thing she said to me was "Mickey Mouse." People would stare at her with pitty in their eyes. She had to use a cane and then a wheel chair. She lots entire parts of her body. All of her hair fell out. She bloated up like a parade float due to the vast number of tumors that infested her belly. But she went to all of her treatments, she continued working and going to school, she took her meds every day and night. She said, "When you granduate college I'm going to take you to Italy and show you all of the artwork that I love."

She had cancer. The cancer did not take away Frances. It didn't destroy her soul, even though it killed her body.

I am not bipolar. It won't destroy my soul, even if I only have 5% left of me and they are sucking the black sludge out of my body, I will not lose to this stupid illness. It will not define me. My kids will say "my mom had bipolar, but she was the best mom." Just like I say my mom had cancer, but she was the best mom."