I have cancer.
These are strong words. Powerful words. Serious words. My dad died from cancer. But, at that time, in my mind cancer was a disease older people got. Smokers got. People who ... what? did things I avoided doing got?
I have cancer.
The doctors call it lymphoma. Cancer's too big of a word, covers too many conditions. "You don't have cancer, you have lymphoma." (Not an actual quote, but implied.) Lymphoma can be cured, or at least arrested. The chances are high that I'll come through this alive and healthy. The chances are also really high that it's going to be painful and uncomfortable and depressing and challenging and yucky while I walk this path. Mouth sores. Fatigue. Nausea. Hyper-vigilance against infection. (I'm not allowed to floss my teeth because I might cut my gums. Who am I now, the Boy in the Bubble?)
I have cancer.
And so I get chemo, too. Oh, joy. The treatment wasn't so bad. I expect that they will continue that way. But after, there was a sense that something was wrong. An ache here, a pain there, a bit of indigestion. Just enough to remind me that I had chemicals dripped into my body that are designed to kill parts of me. For one of them the nurse has to sit by you and watch your reaction as it starts, because if it some how leaks out of your veins (who knew that could happen) it instantly kills all the surrounding tissue. And this is to make me better.
I have cancer.
Want a change in perspective on life? Get cancer. Things you used to think were important now don't mean diddley-squat. Don't like the way you are feeling emotionally? Wait an hour, the New Revelation Express is right around the corner, barreling down the tracks, headed your way. I am still working from an acceptance of cancer in my life as an opportunity to grow and learn, but this is now starting to be punctuated with moments of sobbing in abject fear. Not of death, not even of pain. Just the unknown. My life for the immediate future is blank to me. I'm on a rudderless ship without a map. I take heart in the fact that the stars still shine overhead, but there are times they grow dim and I can't remember the star charts I have studied.
I have cancer.
Welcome to the club! Did you know this stuff is all over the place? People you walk with, talk to, pray with, meet daily have lived through this. I guess it just doesn't come up in conversation, like, "Hi! Glad to meet you. I had cancer." Once they find out you're a member though, they're happy to share their stories. There's no discrimination, but so far, I'm only in the first level of the club. Gotta pay my dues to get to where they are.
I have cancer.
Isn't that special? Those of you who know me are aware I don't mind being in the spotlight. But now it seems that's all my interactions consist of. This is understandable when I'm dealing with the health profession. And I don't mind friends and family asking me how I'm doing or wanting to know the details of my treatment. I would rather they asked if they are curious; I don't mind talking about it. But after awhile I find myself embarrassed by all the attention. Or, is it more honest to say, afraid that it won't continue? I'm not sure. This is still an area of question for me.
I have cancer
So, these are some of the thoughts that have been swirling around my head as I come to grips with this. I continue to pray for acceptance and guidance and gratitude for those who are walking with me. Please hold my sister in your thoughts as well, as she deals with her breast cancer. And please say a special prayer for our caretakers, who, although they have broad shoulders, are being asked to carry a lot right now.
By the way, did I mention I have cancer?
Blessings on you all
