I have cancer. (Duh, right?)
I don’t feel like I have cancer. I don’t feel like a hero or a warrior or that I’m brave or strong or amazing or any other fun word that people use to describe me.
I feel like it’s something to deal with, like so many other things on my never-ending to-do lists.
Of course, I have no idea what it’s supposed to feel like either. Are there rules for these things? Do I look like I have cancer? Can people tell?
It’s all a bit surreal I suppose.
I’ve lost weight, I lost (and got back and am losing again) some hair. I have odd pains, headaches, a large assortment of drugs in my cupboard to fix side effects. I have some degree of chemo brain, I get tired easy and I know a lot of words and acronyms most people don’t.
I know where the snack room is on the infusion floor; I know my way around the hospital. I know who will hurt me when they do a blood draw and I know how to dress for a scan. I know that they need to make contrast drinks colder and that I always seem to forget how to breathe during a CT.
I have good days and bad. Some days I want to scream and yell and play the cancer card, but most days I feel pretty normal. (Whatever that means).
When I look over my posts and journals, I sometimes think that I’m reading someone else’s story. Is this really happening?
I know I’m probably too casual about it but I’m not sure how to be any other way. I’m not sure how to make it feel more real or if I want it to. It’s scary and horrible, and I either just know I’m going to beat it or I’m incredibly naive.
Because the thing is? Life keeps going. Bills still have to be paid, my office still runs, my kids still need things (me) and have to go to school. We still have to make dinner and do laundry and wash dishes. The dog needs the ball tossed and the mail still comes. I’m still a wife, a mom, a friend, a sister and a daughter.
Life continues, whether I have cancer or not. Pretty surreal, eh?