Two Cents

September 19th, 2011 § 6 comments

Don’t tell me things happen for a reason.
Don’t tell me there is a plan.
Don’t tell me I’m supposed to learn a lesson from this.
Don’t tell me I’m a better person for it.

Tell me I’m strong.
Tell me I’m tough.
Tell me I did it well.
Tell me you care.

I don’t believe I was given cancer for a reason.
I don’t believe there is a master plan.
I don’t believe this is a test.
I don’t believe you only are given what you can handle.

I know I will learn lessons.
I know I will be stronger.
I know sometimes it is too much to handle.
I know sometimes I want to give up.
I know sometimes I thought dying would be easier.

I believe the power is in me.
I believe the power is in my doctors.
I believe in the power of medical science.

I believe unless you have experienced this, you cannot know.
I believe unless you’ve been there, you cannot give advice.
I believe unless you’ve felt it, you cannot judge.

I believe in the power of friendship and love to make the journey bearable.
I believe suffering is a process.
I believe in picking myself up and pressing forward.
And again.
And again.

I believe persistence pays off.
I believe in enjoying the gifts I’ve been given.
I believe many people will never understand.

It might sadden me, anger me, and frustrate me.
But in the end that does not matter.
I can only be true to myself.
I must be true to myself.

If You Knew Me

December 22nd, 2010 § 22 comments

If you knew me, you would know I am resilient. Tough, even in the face of the worst news. You would know I rise to the occasion every time. I might break down before, I might break down after– certainly after. But I will meet the challenges at each and every turn.

If you knew me you would know I smiled my way through many of my hard times, lied and smiled and said “fine” when many a person asked, “How are you?”

If you knew me you would know I am not a negative person, that I am not a pity-seeker, nor a martyr. You would know that I just do the best I can, and want to be dignified and strong, but am not in denial.

If you knew me you would know I love to do things for others, moreso than myself. You would know that in this turbulent portion of my life I have done what I can to show others what they mean to me, and how much I appreciate the kindness of strangers… how the smallest encounters can stay with me forever.

If you knew me you would know that I tried my best to make others feel at ease with my cancer. I always took pride in looking the best I could with what I had left. I created outfits around my scarves, and learned how to draw in eyebrows so that it wouldn’t be too obvious I had none. I tried to set a good example for my children, being honest with them about what was happening, loving them as much as I could, and asking the others who loved them to help them feel special and safe.

If you knew me you would know I care for others. When fellow cancer patients have asked to see what reconstruction looks like, I place my pride and embarrassment aside to honor their needs, their fears, their emotions. While some might (and do) hide their illnesses, I cannot. I have chosen for myself, and for my children, to be open about what cancer is, what it does, what price it demands. I believe that being this way will reduce the shame, the fear, and the confusion for them. Nothing has been more important to me than making sure my children understand what is happening and what the scientific reasons are. That honesty does not come at the expense of hope. Of optimism. Of sheer will. To remain mum about these feelings, these thoughts, these explanations of my experience, is to deny my life for the past four years. To do so says the suffering, confusion, and fear were ill-placed. To avoid talking about the reality of the dangers, the problems, the down-times is to not only be in denial but also to assert that my fears are irrational.

If you knew me you would know that I write not because I wallow in darkness, or think negative thoughts all the time. If you knew me you would know I write so that the emotions can be explored, pushed, pulled, twisted, and shared in order for me to be positive, optimistic, and strong for the rest of the world to see. It is the sharing of these ideas on paper, and sometimes reaching the hoped-for connection to people who read them (whether because they resonate with you, move you, educate you, or make you thankful that you have no idea what the cancer experience is) that keeps my words flowing.

If you knew me you would know I’m just a person, doing the best I can with what I’ve got.

Maybe it’s a bum rap, but it’s my bum rap.

It’s my chance to show what I can do:

Just watch me.

Where Am I?

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