6 October 2015
And some days I was just defeated. Finished. I just wanted to Die before I even started treatment. I was so afraid, fearful of being sick and terrified of the idea of leaving my young kids behind if I didn’t make it! So I sat in my Happy Place (in my Yard with my Dog). A Box of Vogue Slim Cigarrettes on hand and a glass of Coke and Tissues.
And I cried… And cried…
And cried some more… FOR LIKE A WEEK or TWO!
This was what I needed to do. This was how I processed my thoughts and emotions. I needed to feel so sorry for myself to understand that I needed to STOP FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF!
When there was no more sadness or tears I felt a gaping whole of nothing but liberation – I felt light and free!
I went to my Husband and said: I AM NOT GONNA FUCKEN DIE FROM THIS SHIT!
I had made up my mind – Fuck You Cancer!
That was my battle cry!
Everyone uses war metaphors like ‘Keep Fighting’ and ‘Win this Battle’ but I later came to resent these words because mostly I did not feel brave, I was just following my doctors orders. A battle implies or suggests combat. Where you have an arsenal of weapons and you feel secure and safe and able to retaliate against the impending infiltration. I could understand the intention of these sayings but the reality really is different. I mean how do you fight something so insidious and invasive and sneaky inside your own body?
I always advise a newly diagnosed cancer patient to cry. Cry your guts out – it is amazingly calming and ironically the hysterics leads you to a redeeming place where you can really dig deep and find your voice. I now realize that in order for me to get my shit together I needed to Fall Apart… to Fall Back Together!