It’s World Cancer Day. Someone just texted and asked if I was going to make a post. I’m not sure what to say. But I’ll try to give a glimpse into my thoughts. What I think of when I think of cancer- what it means to me.
Cancer has impacted every single thing in my life.
I have immense survivor’s guilt. Why am I here and my mother isn’t? Why is my father gone? Why are so many of my friends not watching their children grow up, playing music, or just living? Why me? Who the hell knows…
Cancer has trashed my body. I’m a bit of a mess. My feet are wrecked from the chemicals that kept me from dying. My ear is ruined from exploding in an HBO chamber while they tried to fix my dying tissue. My hip hurts so badly it makes me cry at least once a week. My upper body has been through amputation, mutilation, and reconstruction. That’s left me weaker than I’d like to be.
My heart and soul aches for those that are gone, for what I’ve lost physically, financially, emotionally, and I am riddled with the fear of recurrence- what the hell happens if it comes back and V is left alone? New muscle aches and pain can never be just that- in the back of my mind it’s always accompanied by a fear of mets.
Cancer doesn’t just impact the person who is ill. V is always worried that I’m going to die. Now, as she grows, she’s beginning to worry that she’ll get cancer like her mother and grandmother. That’s not something any 10 year old child should ever have to worry about. It breaks my heart. My lovers feel my insecurities about my scars and my “new” body. No matter how sweet, kind or complimentary they are I’m always nervous about my scars.
Fuck cancer for taking away so much from so many.
Here’s to those that have left us. Here’s to the survivors. Here’s to those doing treatment. Here’s to those in palliative care. Here’s to the doctors, scientists, nurses, direct support professionals, and everyone helping to make life a little better for those impacted by this awful fucking disease.
