I don't really talk about my cancer a lot on this blog, since it's more upbeat. Yesterday I posted this on our CaringBridge site and I think that it warranted being re-posted on here. My hope is that another young woman will come across this and it'll help her deal with what she is feeling about her own diagnosis and treatment.
This is hard. Cancer sucks. It is not smiles and pink ribbons and pink coffee mugs. Some days I feel really upbeat and like I can conquer the world, and others I find myself wiping my tears with one of Ben’s burp cloths. I have prayed and soul searched so much over the past 6 months. Why did this happen to me? What did I ever do that was bad enough to deserve this?
Not only myself, but I consistently worry about everyone around me. How it’s affecting my husband, how is it for him to look at other women who have hair and aren't covered by scars robbing them of their femininity. The fear he must feel about potentially losing his wife, physically and emotionally from this disease. About my parents. Parents should never have to bury their children, and I hate that this disease I’m fighting makes that a not too unrealistic thought.
Someone gave me advice early on that having a positive attitude really helps with treatment, recovery, and recurrence. I agree. It keeps you from getting down in the dumps and losing the energy to move forward. I try and put on a positive face every day, and if I had a nickel for every person that told me “how positive” I am or what a “great outlook” I have, we wouldn’t be asking for donations for medical bills. But here’s the thing, sometimes trying to be positive all the time can be bad. Like how I don’t feel like I can be negative. Being honest about my darker feelings, depression, or anger feels like I’m letting everyone down. Like everyone will realize that maybe I wasn’t really so positive. I read a quote that said something to the effect of “cancer doesn’t make you a more positive person, it just makes you a better actress”. Truer words have never been spoken. Although I do feel like forcing myself to have more positive thoughts makes me really start to believe them.
Sometimes I just really want to be angry, though. I want to go out in my back yard and scream up at the sky. I want to scream at God for dealing me these cards that have absolutely rocked me to my core. I want to kick and scream and go to that place in San Francisco where you can pay to throw plates at walls. Dealing with your own mortality is serious business. When the cancer takes over your body and you’re nothing left but a shell of a person, the loved ones around you will never forget seeing you that way. I look down at this baby sleeping on my chest, and he needs his mother. I want to live to worry about Benjamin being out later than his curfew, and to pin his corsage for prom. I want to meet his girlfriend that will become his wife, and dance with him at his wedding. I don’t want him to grow up as a child that lost a parent. And Ryan, poor Ryan. Nobody thinks when they get married at 23 that the “sickness and in health” part will come into play for many decades to come, not two years down the road. This man has been through so much over the past six months. Although not physically enduring the surgeries and treatments, he’s been right there by my side. I have never felt alone in this whole process because of him. He fights right beside me during the day, and holds me while I cry out of fear at night. What did this loving, compassionate person do to deserve having a wife diagnosed with a life threatening disease in his twenties? It seems like everyone else our age is living with no major worries or struggles, enjoying their twenties. I’m shaken at the thought of leaving Ryan as a widow to raise Benjamin on his own.
Breast cancer is horrible and mean and sneaky. Just when you think it’s under control and gone, it comes back with a vengeance. It’s like a nasty, slimy, monster that wants to steal mothers from their children, wives from their husbands, and daughters from their parents. It’s wrong. It shouldn’t happen to anyone, any family, any friend. We need research and we need medications to treat triple negative. My friends I’ve met on this journey are also daughters, sisters, friends, and mothers. I wish I had a million dollars and a pair of boxing gloves. I would donate all of the money to research for medication to keep this disease for coming back to me, and I would use the gloves to physically beat the crap out of this monster
