When I was a little girl, my parents taught me that the word "suck" was akin to profanity, so I never used it. As I got older, I realized it wasn't that bad, and put it to occasional use. Well, since my diagnosis of breast cancer, the word "suck" comes to mind at least once a day. And it will appear multiple times throughout this blog, so here's the apology to my parents: "I'm sorry I'm using the word 'suck.' Sometimes, nothing else will do."
**************************************
I am about nine weeks into this journey known as breast cancer. Someone had told me going into it that I would start to experience a "new daily normal." I didn't know at the time what that meant, but I do now. I constantly hear phrases like, "Wow, you look great," or "You're handling this so well!"
And my response is usually somewhat of the same. "Thanks. I don't have a choice to handle it otherwise, do I?" And what I mean is this: I could get up every day, refuse to put on make up, jewelry, or clean clothes. I could mope around the house, or worse yet, stay in bed all day. I could have a crappy attitude, shut myself off from everyone, and never leave the house. But why? The person I'd be hurting most is myself, followed by my immediate family. And what would that accomplish? Nothing. A friend asked me, "But aren't you mad?" Well, sure. I'm pissed off. I didn't want cancer. But walking around like that all the time won't help.
Then I hear, "And you're handling this with such grace..." Well, I have it on good authority that grace can be defined by not just what you say, but what you don't say. Because if everyone heard my daily, inner monologue, "grace" may not be the word that would first come to mind. Because cancer sucks. It S.U.C.K.S. And here's how. (This will be my one and only pity-party-blog, so indulge me.)
Cancer sucks when I wake up in the morning. When I've slept eight hours without my own thoughts. In my dreams, I still have hair. Iwake up, feel no hair on my pillow, and adjust my shoulder from where my port is located, I'm reminded that I'm a cancer patient.
Cancer sucks when I get ready in the morning. When I peruse my closet, looking at my pretty nice wardrobe and wonder, "What will take the emphasis off the fact that I'm wearing a wig?" I miss my hair. There's a bald woman standing in the mirror where I used to be. Then I look in the mirror, hoping that my eyebrows didn't just magically fall off over night, thankful that they are still there, for at least one more day.
Cancer sucks on chemo days. I sit in a room full of people who are old enough to be my grandparents. We all share similar stories. I'm pumped full of drugs with more letters in their names than some middle-Eastern countries, and I know that within hours, my body will be feeling like it's been run over by a truck. A big one.
Cancer sucks the days after chemo. The tiredness isn't too bad, and it's a good excuse to slip away for a nap, but otherwise - it sucks. My mouth feels like it's full of cotton; like I haven't brushed my teeth in days. My stomach churns and has sharp, shooting pains. Food has no taste. I'll omit the rest of the yucky details.
Cancer sucks when it comes to my self-esteem. It may sound like I'm some vain, self-centered, conceited woman. The truth is just the opposite. I've never felt amazingly beautiful. Then add to this that I just had a third baby. First, I hate my body. I hate my body for what it allowed itself to do. How dare it get cancer!?! I feel like it betrayed me. I hate what I look like bald. I hate that my husband has a bald wife. He tells me I'm beautiful; I know he believes that; but it is hard to FEEL beautiful. I hate that I now have scars. Up to this point, the only surgery I'd ever had were my wisdom teeth. I now have s.c.a.r.s. I've never had those before. One is under my arm from a lymph-node removal, and the other is near my collar bone where my port is inserted. That one is visible with certain shirts. All this combined makes it hard to feel very confident.
So, there you go, the inner-workings of my brain. Cancer really does suck. But choosing our attitude is what makes the difference. I said from the beginning that I would fight this because I didn't have any other choice. And I live that each day.
Yes, this sucks. Yes, I'm mad. But I'm a fighter.
And I don't accept failure.
Not this time.
