November 18, 2019.
The day I found out I had cancer.
Not exactly an anniversary I want to celebrate or remember, but it’s part of my life now.
Lately, I’ve kind of gone into hibernation mode. I haven’t felt like talking to friends or family very much because nobody can really understand what I go through on a daily basis, and I’m tired of all the well-meaning but unwanted advice and comments.
Anytime I get a headache now, I remember one friend saying to me after I told her I had cancer:
“Be glad it’s not in your brain!”
Like…
WTF!
But then I remembered that I’ve said stupid things too.
I once responded to a friend’s migraines by telling her about my aunt’s aneurysm.
Sorry, BTW. I love you. 😂
Maybe this is karma coming back to bite me in the bum!
I’ve been thinking about death and dying a lot lately.
Apparently I’m just a morbid person according to one of my favorite books, The Secret Language of Birthdays.
Seriously.
Best book ever!!!
But lately it really does seem like cancer and death are everywhere.
Most days I wake up and wonder:
Am I going to live or am I going to die?
Which leads me, naturally…
To french fries.
Because I can’t stop eating McDonald’s fries.
I know you’re judging me, but seriously, if I’m going to die anyway, just let me eat my french fries and be happy!
This reminds me of a story from Dubai.
When I was a manager there, we got one manager meal each day and could choose almost anything on the menu. We’d cover for each other so we could eat in the office, and it was a very well-deserved break.
I’d usually get grilled salmon or chicken with a side of fries.
But these weren’t just any fries.
They had Parmesan and truffle oil and were perfectly crispy, fried goodness.
Since it wasn’t always easy to get to the kitchen to wash my hands, I started eating my fries with chopsticks.
Actually, before the chopsticks, I used to eat each fry almost to the end but leave the tiny part that my fingers had touched.
Then I’d have a little pile of french-fry ends left over.
Okay…
As I’m telling this story, I’m realizing how crazy I sound.
But I’m kind of a germaphobe.
Just a little.
So one day I’m sitting in the office, happily eating my fries with chopsticks, when the door opens behind me and I hear this completely incredulous voice:
“Are you eating fries with CHOPSTICKS?”
I busted out laughing because until that moment, I hadn’t realized how ridiculous I looked.
Okay, maybe you had to be there.
But every time I eat fries now, that’s what I think about. 🙂
Anyway…
I’ve still been going through A LOT.
It feels like it never ends.
After surgery, I thought I was done.
Nope!
Radiation.
I wanted to say:
NO! I DON’T WANT TO DO ITTTTT!
I was imagining myself strapped to a table and being sizzled alive by laser beams.
I’d also watched someone on YouTube document her radiation experience, and by the end her skin was badly burned and peeling.
So naturally…
I was freaking out.
The whole radiation process was much more involved than I expected.
First, I had to get mapped. They made a mold for my body so I could lie in exactly the same position every day.
They also TATTOOED ME!
I have three tiny little pin-dot tattoos that they use to line me up for treatment.
There was more imaging and planning, and then finally they called me in for my first treatment.
I was scared out of my mind.
I had to lie on this table while a huge machine moved around me and stopped above my chest. It made this weird sound that reminded me of an automatic pencil sharpener.
Part of the machine was right above my face, and I could see all these little pieces moving around inside it.
I thought:
Okay. This is it. I’m about to get ZAPPED.
So I braced myself.
And then…
Nothing.
It didn’t hurt at all.
I couldn’t feel a thing.
I actually wondered if anything had even happened.
I had to do 30 treatments total—five days a week for six weeks.
Each appointment took around 10 minutes. I’d change into a hospital gown, wait for my turn, and then the radiation team would spend most of the time getting me into exactly the right position.
The actual radiation itself was really quick.
There was a separate waiting area for the radiation peeps, and because we saw each other almost every day, I started getting to know some of them.
There was one sweet lady I talked to regularly who was going through cancer treatment again. She was in a wheelchair and seemed to be in a lot of pain, but she and her husband would always chat with me.
I still wonder how she’s doing.
Toward the end of my radiation treatments, the skin near my collarbone started peeling.
That hurt.
Even wearing a T-shirt was painful.
I also had stickers on my breast where they’d drawn some of the markings. On my last day, the nurses warned me to be careful when removing them.
And naturally…
I forgot.
I ripped one off.
OMG.
THE STICKER CAME OFF WITH MY SKIN.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
I finished radiation in the middle of August, and I still have some marks on my chest from everything, but they’re not too bad.
I’ve also been following other people with cancer online.
I started watching them because I desperately wanted to find people who understood what I was going through—people who had gone through chemo, lost their hair, had radiation, lived with metastatic cancer and documented the whole thing.
Sometimes their stories give me hope.
Other times, they’re terrifying.
I’ll follow someone who seems to be doing well, and then suddenly there’s progression. Another treatment. More chemo. Radiation. Hospice.
I don’t even know these people personally, but I cry for them.
Because now I understand, at least in my own way, what it means to keep going through treatment after treatment.
And of course, when I see someone else’s cancer getting worse, I wonder:
Is this going to happen to me?
Even with all this sadness…
Don’t worry!
I’m still THINKING POSITIVE!!!
Actually…
I’ve realized something.
Telling someone with cancer to “think positive” feels a lot like when some random stranger tells you to:
“SMILE!”
Imagine how annoying it feels when some random person tells you to smile.
Now remember that feeling the next time you’re about to tell someone going through something horrible to think positive.
Sometimes we’re allowed to be sad.
We’re allowed to be scared.
We’re allowed to wonder what’s going to happen.
And none of that means we’ve given up.
I’m realizing how random this post has become, but I want you all to know:
I’m okay.
I’m alive.
I just went through the hardest year of my life.
And it’s still not over.
Thank you for reading along and letting me share all of these thoughts and feelings.
I really am hopeful. 😍
XOXO
