To Write

I’ve wanted, since this all started, to sit down and write, seriously, about this whole… Cancer thing. About what it’s like, day to day. About what it’s like, finding out, telling people, dealing with it.

.

But every time I sit down to do it, words just… fly away from me. I end up complaining, or crying, or so numb that it’s pointless to try and write anything. I want to be eloquent, to say something meaningful- but all that I end up coming back to really is… Fuck Cancer.

.

Which isn’t to say I haven’t had good things to say, that there hasn’t been wisdom here. But mostly, at the end of the day everything boils down to Fuck Cancer. Because that’s what it boils down to in the end. Ultimately it all comes back to that. Cancer is big and bullying and painful. It’s frightening and overwhelming and if you’re not one of the lucky ones… it takes over.

.

I thought I was going to be one of the lucky ones. Surgery. Done. It seemed so easy when we started talking about it. But then there was the tumor. And then there was the SIZE of it. Too big to come out vaginally, robotically. So then there was the incision. And the labs. The ones that were supposed to come back clean. Except they didn’t. One lymph node. One. And you don’t stop to think… what if they’d missed it? 1 out of 30. 1. You don’t stop to think what if they’d missed it because there’s a part of you that wishes they had- then you’d be done. You don’t stop to think what if they’d missed it because deep down that’s MORE frightening. That it could have just… run rampant… spread, silently, slowly, with determination from one to another to another.

.

I don’t want Cancer. But I don’t want to die from it either. Not knowing it was even there. So you don’t stop to think about what if they missed it.

.

I’m not a good patient. I’m not a good Cancer fighter. I get frustrated and restless too easily. I complain too much. I cry. A lot. Late at night, in the wee hours of the morning when everyone is asleep— I curl into the couch and cry. Because knowing the Cancer is still in me makes my skin crawl. Because I can’t sleep. Because I can’t handle knowing that the surgery didn’t fix it. Because I don’t know how to deal with having been through all of this and STILL having Cancer.

.

I was so determined to be positive, to think positively that I never stopped to think- not even in the quiet, alone moments when no one else was there- I never stopped to think about what happened after. I never stopped to think about what happened if surgery wasn’t the end. And so I face the next pieces unprepared. Unready. Unwilling. As if there were actually a choice for me.

.

“One Day at a Time” says my grandmother. As if 2 or 3 at a time were an option (to quote one of my favorite movies… 28 days). But I get her point- truly. Except I didn’t know these days would be happening. I don’t know HOW to deal with each day because this isn’t what I prepared for.

.

I planned, and Cancer laughed. And it crept through my system, it spread from my uterus and invaded. And I wasn’t ready. So each day I try to deal with the fact that I am almost a month post-op… and I still have Cancer. The Cancer that I thought would be gone from me by now. This is not the summer I had planned. I didn’t plan for chemo, certainly not for radiation. I didn’t plan for nausea and fear and sleepless nights. I thought- I thought I would feel better by now, that I would be mended and on my way back to my life.

.

But I’m not. I’m waiting for my incision to heal so they can pump me full of drugs that will kill not just the cancer… but everything else too for awhile. So they can irradiate me and hopefully, presumably, kill the Cancer that couldn’t just be… removed. And even now, even after the less than ideal resolution- I still won’t spare a thought to what happens if it doesn’t work. Because it has to work. Because if it doesn’t work— well, I’m sure there are more steps. More rounds of medicine, more support from friends and family. I don’t intend to let Cancer win. Not at 30 years old.

.

So instead, I save my breath, I save my words, I save my fight. I accept my lack of eloquence and reserve the energy of words to commit to fighting the Cancer that snuck slowly and unexpectedly within me. What choice do I have? I fought long and hard to get to where I am today without it… I won’t roll over now.

.

Forgive me then, if I don’t speak in wisdom and courage. Forgive me if my language is riddled with curses and complaints. Forgive me. It takes less energy to say Fuck Cancer than it does to try and tell you how it feels.

.

Maybe when this is over, my eloquence will return. Maybe my words will come back to me, to fill the spaces where Cancer was.

.

For now… you’ll have to forgive my rambling. You’ll have to forgive my ineptitude. Because for now all I have to offer is Fuck Cancer.