I’m cranky, I’m sad, I’m frustrated.
I don’t want to explain how I feel to family members. I don’t want to have to.
I want to yell, “If you’d had cancer you would understand!” But I know their ignorance is my prize… the prize I get for the fact that some of the people I treasure most haven’t had cancer.
I’ve seen a comaraderie that comes with this disease.
We may have had different types of cancer, different treatments, different prognoses… but… we are tied together.
When I was diagnosed one of the first things I was struck by was how vulnerable I felt. I worried about my family, especially my (then) seven-month old son Tristan who had his own medical problems. “Who will fight for him?” I thought. “No one will love him the way I do. No one will be his advocate the way that I will. I have to do it. I have to be here for him. I have to do what it takes to stay alive.” That became my mantra.
But once introduced, the worry could not be abolished. It could be dampened, minimized, controlled. But it could not be removed.
Two days ago a high school classmate died of brain cancer. Today I got word that a woman I know is in intensive care after complications from leukemia.1
I ache for their families, for their children. I can’t explain the nuances of these feelings well. I have been here at the keyboard trying to find the words and repeatedly come up short.
And so, perhaps it is enough to say that I don’t always have the right words to convey what it is I am feeling.
But that doesn’t mean I feel it any less.
- I am saddened to report that Kellie died shortly after I wrote this post [↩]
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So beautifully crafted. Perhaps the words you haven’t given voice to are the most poignant of all. For me, the words are a jumbled seething mass, refusing identity. I know what I feel, but can’t explain it to friends and family who haven’t had cancer. I do know that you and others who I share this strange cancer experience with understand it without question regardless of our differing diagnoses.
I have not had your experience. I respect it and honor it. I am so sorry for your sadness and frustration.
If it helps to tell you that I understand, I will tell you….I understand. I’m sorry for the loss of your friend from brain cancer and sorry for your other friend in the hospital. Feeling cranky, sad, and frustrated is all too common for me too. The worry about others, the required stamina and endurance to see each day through, giving all you’ve got to give. Exhaustion doesn’t even come close to explaining some days, when the need is so great. I’m thinking of you right now as a sister and a friend, our bond the disease we share, the family we care for who rely on us to be strong. All the rest. I don’t know exactly how you feel Lisa, but I do care and I do ache for your pain. If it helps, I understand. xo
Yes, whenever I hear of friends of friends battling with cancer, or dying of cancer, there’s a tug, a kind of wish to fight for them, or to shield them–these people I’ve never met.
It’s complicated. You conveyed it well.
I’m so sorry to hear about your classmate and your friend in the hospital.
Your prize… what a making-lemonade way of looking at your lemons.
I am so sorry about your friends. I lost my beloved aunt/godmother to leukemia. That’s why we banked the cordblood for all our kids.
There’s no such thing as an insurance policy against sickness, just as there’s no real prize for ignorance. But we can make due with our booby prizes.
I lost 2 yournger sisters to melanoma and lung cancer, 2 yrs apart. One 38 the 2nd 42. None of us will understand the way you feel and the thoughts that race through your panicked mind. I enjoy your writings. You are a positive soul and are here for a reason, the main one to take care of your little ones. Not sure if you ever hear of Imerman Angels but I am a mentor for them. I speak with other women in the process of losing a sister or loved one to this shitty disease. Take a look, maybe you can share on your blog, it doesn’t cost anything, it’s a great idea. http://www.imermanangels.com
My friend’s 6 y-o daughter has leukemia. Her blog has connected me to the simple, basic things I used take for granted every day (like hair on my boys’ heads or crazy-mad-little boy energy) and made me supremely thankful for them.
What I find most difficult about her blog isn’t the cold hard facts, but her emotional response. The highs and lows are dizzying and exhausting to read. I can’t imagine living them.
I’m sorry for your sadness. I’m thinking of you and your friends tonight…
Your loss must be difficult when it is linked so close to your own diagnosis. My husband died 3 1/2 years ago after a 2 1/2 years struggle with malignant melanoma. Our children were 2 1/2 years & 10 months old. I was in shock for a very long time, and am still coming out of the bubble of grief. The hardest journey one can ever make. I suspect that your friend’s loss is even more difficult than you would normally imagine. I am a member of a cancer support centre and have talked to many cancer patients who struggle with fear, guilt and a much larger gamet of emotions. I do not truly know your pain, but I wish you well in your own journey.
OMG my insurance denied 2nd appeal long story short there excuse was other alternatives to his complex regional pain syndrome, they claim pain medicine and therapy and it’s not working my son can’t walk he’s in #10 level pain, Riley hospital for children is working hard and so is other Doctors yo do another round of fighting for us, he is in more pain than ever and the longer this goes on I’m afraid he’s going to loose his foot, my God’s he only 13 and we have proof of what they insurance suggest is not working so no we wait again while meantime he’s failing school my wife can’t work and it’s a horror story before our eyes, thanks for information I will not take no for a answer