
Dear Cancer,
On this beautiful, sunny, Saturday morning, I’d like to take a minute to thank you for how you’ve changed me and what you’ve both brought into my life and taken away. It’s high time you and I had an honest talk about a few things. I understand why you don’t want to talk to me since I’ve broken up with you, but I need to get a few things off my chest. It’s all about closure so I can get past our time together and move on.
Cancer, you’ve taken a lot of things from me.
You have destroyed my vanity.
You have made me gain weight; 30 lbs at the highest end. During this battle to vanquish you, I’ve lost my hair, eyebrows, eyelashes and most of my body hair (including my nose hair!). My nails have turned dark and ridged, thickened. My skin has discoloured in places and hyper-pigmented in others. It’s thinner, drier, bumpier and definitely wrinklier. My eyes water constantly so makeup can’t stay put. You’ve taken my muscle tone. Pretty much any part of me of which I was proud has been altered. Thank you for the lesson in humility.
You have taken my vitality.
Going up a flight of stairs puts my heart rate over 130 and I have to rest. I can’t walk very far due to back and leg pain (but it’s getting better!). I have a cough from radiation irritation. My fingertips and toes are numb due to nerve damage and even my teeth have damaged nerve roots that make cold drinks a nightmare. Restless leg syndrome wakes me at night unless I take a sleep aid. I used to be such a good sleeper and, for me, that’s one of the harder side effects of treatment. The fatigue…well, it’s in a league of its own and it has many facets. Some days I really do feel like I’m dying…incrementally and agonizingly slowly…and then I remind myself that this, too, shall pass. Thank you for the lesson in perseverance.
You have altered my perception of time.
Hours morph into weeks and I can’t seem to keep track of the date or even day of the week. Sleep confuses me whether it’s a nap or night time. I wake never knowing what part of the day I’ve missed or if I’ve missed any time at all. I look back on months past that seem, simultaneously, to have passed days ago and years ago. I look ahead to a long series of treatments and realize that I’ve already put two weeks to bed with four to go. It’s been 8 months since my biopsy and that doesn’t seem possible. Time does pass. I will regain what I have lost. Thank you for the lesson in patience.
Cancer, you have also given me so many things.
You have resulted in my mutilation.
Scars, but I prefer to think of them as badges. You know when you’re a kid and you take skating or swimming lessons? Each level of skill and difficulty, if adequately demonstrated, earns you a badge. I used to take skating lessons when I was a kid and I had a sash that went crosswise over the body. Kind of like beauty pageant sashes. When I would earn a new badge I couldn’t wait to show my Mom so she could sew it on with the others I’d earned. I have a few more surgeries in my future and so I’ll earn a few more scars. Perhaps I’ll design a tattoo to cover them. Perhaps I’ll just let them shine and twist and remind me that I’m still here and that I beat you into the ground. Thank you for the reminders that I am a fighter.
You have given me cardiomyopathy.
For those of you who are familiar with that term, I don’t mean that I have an enlarged heart in the physiological sense. I mean that my heart has figuratively swelled and swelled, much like the Grinch’s if he started with a big heart at the outset. The unbelievable support and outpouring of love and prayers that has been directed my way has stuffed every single iota of space available in my heart and soul. Even so, it continues to grow every day. The kindnesses big and small that have come my way are more than appreciated…they are honoured. They have pushed out all doubt, all fear, all pain and all confusion. They leave room only for hope. Thank you for helping me to be lifted by my friends and family and to know true gratitude. Thank you for helping me to know who my friends are and to make new ones who will forever live in my heart.
You have given me a knowledge of my limits.
You scrambled my brain and now everything takes longer than it used to. Where I was once quick I am now hesitant…word searching, losing track of thoughts, unable to recall names or events. Now I make notes as soon as a thought or question pops into my head. Now I ask for help when pride would previously prevent that. No longer am I disappointed that my energy fails me. My body must dictate what it needs and I’ve learned that pushing past that warning signal results in misery. My body talks to me and I listen. Thank you for the awareness that I must be as kind to myself as I would be to another.
You have helped me reach out to others.
This blog, started for as a storehouse of my experiences and thoughts, has helped others face challenges in their own lives. That is beyond amazing. We all have daily battles, some big and some small but all important to those who are battling. I was never one to hide from trouble, never bury my head in the sand, ostrich-like. My core is comprised of optimism and attack mode came easily. “Fuck cancer” was the first thought at diagnosis. You would never define me. You wouldn’t call the shots. We armed ourselves with knowledge and determination and optimism. Not really optimism as much as a SURETY that we would be victorious. I say “we” because I’m not journeying on my own. You’ve given me battalions of determined fighters. When I flag, they lift me, when I falter, they right me, when I doubt, they redirect me, when I weep, they love me. Do you see you never had a chance? Thank you for this gift of gathering into my life such light and sharing it with those who face their own battles.
So, you ignorant interloping motherfucker, I have a lot for which I needed to thank you. As radiation continues, salting your fields after battle so you will never be able to grow a single blade of cancerous grass again, I feel your pain. I feel your loss. Your mission has failed. Every day I am stronger. Every day another mile of tunnel is covered. Every day, I am thankful for the blessings you have brought into my life.
With much love and abounding hope,
Andrea xoxo
PS, Go fuck yourself.