Cherry Coke Lake

As I sat in the waiting area of my new oncologist's office I watched hairless, one breasted, sickly looking women pass by me.  There were others around us, but this group is who I noticed.  Of course I felt the compassion one is supposed to feel when one sees living, breathing proof that the world is a cruel place.  I felt sad and scared for them.  I felt pity, as much as I tried not to.  I felt like hugging each and every one of them.  I didn't, instead I said a quick prayer for each of them as they passed me.  My prayers weren't for a cure.  Instead I prayed for each of them to find the inner strength to feel completely at peace with wherever they are in their cancer journeys.

(I also prayed for that wretched Taylor Swift song to end, it seemed so loud and endless...holy cow, purely selfish prayer, I know.)

I'm what I like to call a survivalist.  Not in the sense that you all know the word; living off the land and armed to the hilt.  Unless Fudge Rounds grow on a bush and there's a Cherry Coke Lake, I'm screwed.  And the only artillery I have is my gift of completely inappropriate humor and the ability to drop it like a bomb at the worst possible moment.  But mentally and emotionally, I've always been able to pull myself together and move forward in spite of any barriers I've faced.  Sometimes it takes longer and sometimes I get pretty low mentally before I can get back up, but I can make it happen.

Cancer is going to be different.  I can tell.  My body is going to overcome this bastard of a disease, but my emotions have taken a beating I'm not sure they can come back from. I've experienced anxiety before, nothing like this.  I know most of you have seen "The Shoes"...those started out as a funny cancer joke since I pulled my Cancer Card to justify buying them.  But now they've become my courage to leave the house, much like a preschooler might wear a cape to make him feel strong when he's scared.  I've regressed to the point of a cape for my feet.  Intellectually, I know I'm the one who assigned this significance to them.  Emotionally, I've realized it was necessary.  That scares me.  I'm afraid of being afraid.

While chatting with a friend today, who's been through exactly what I'm going through right now, this statement struck a nerve, "I'll tell you what, cancer is bullshit.  Even when it's gone, you never feel safe.  Every headache, pain or pinch, you wonder if it's cancer.  Cancer is emotional and mental rape."   (I won't say who, because her story isn't mine to share, but feel free to take credit for the quote, You-Know-Who.)  This is exactly how I feel.  I know there will come a day when all of this isn't so fresh and isn't in the forefront of my mind.  And I will be (and am currently) grateful that I'm physically better than I started.  And I'm grateful for all of the support I'm receiving from so many.  And I don't expect anyone to have any answers or to wave a magic wand to make my Feels Bads all better.  And there's absolutely nothing that any one of you has said or could say that is the "the wrong thing to say".  It feeds my soul to hear from all of you, cards, dinners, prayers, laughs, shared expletives...I love it all.  

Please don't feel bad for me.  I haven't suddenly become fragile.  I'm still me, hold the thyroid and add extra neurosis on the side!   I think I'm only telling this part of my story because the more I read and more people I meet with cancer, this is their story too.  It's cruel and unusual punishment.  We must find a way to learn from it.  We just have to...

<3 H