Those Tedious Words
T and I were talking in bed a few nights ago. We do this a lot now. In fact, nearly every day she comes home from work to find me napping and slides under the blanket with me to share about her day before we try to go for our evening walk. (Actually, she walks...I sit on a bench. My legs aren't meant to walk in the cold air and my doctor told me not to worry about it. "Girl, you do what you WANT TO DO now," he told me. "If you feel like walking...walk. If not....sit. You're the boss.") At night, I often go to bed before she does, but she slides in to talk before sleep. It soothes both of us.
On this particular night, we were talking about words and expressions that we have come to despise. Most, of course, are cancer related.
1) Fighting a battle. Often people talk to me about fighting my battle. As if I am a warrior on a battlefield. And frankly, they aren't far off. It often feels that way to me, too. But, I do get sick of it. Cancer is a disease. An insidious one. It is the Goliath to my David, no doubt about that. In fact, sometimes I feel foolish even trying to fight it. As if I am a kindergartner standing in a field with a pile of rocks, facing a gangster with a Tommy gun. I mean, why try? But, the human spirit is strong and so, we fight.
2) Run in the family. I am often asked if cancer runs in my family. And, boy howdy, are they relieved when I answer that, yes, it does run in my family. Like eyes and noses run in families. Fingers. I think that most people want to be assured that they probably won't get it. And if they don't have it running in their family, they figure that they won't. They breathe a bit easier. I don't share that many people who have cancer are the first to get it in their family. I think it is also hard for breast cancer survivors to be around me sometimes. Because, you work so fucking hard to beat it and then, afterwards, the LAST thing you want to hear are stats telling you what your chances are of getting it again. The odds of it recurring go down after five years, but there are thousands of cases of people getting it even twenty years after they beat it. They key is to just to live your life.
3) BRAVE. Thank you for telling me that I am brave. I am not, though. If you saw how many times that I am just walking around my house and suddenly bend over as if I've been kicked in the stomach and then start crying, you would not call me brave. There was not one time when I saw my name on those chemo or arsenic bags when I didn't feel as if I might throw up. The fear went through me like lightning every. single. time. I maybe am a good faker in front of you, mainly because I don't want to look like a wuss. Inside? I am quaking most of the time. I hate each and every second that I have to spend in a doctor's office, taking chemo pills, walking around in a chemo daze, or looking around a waiting room at other bald people. I just don't know what else to do. What else is there to do? Sit in a corner and bawl all day? Been there. Done that. If you do that, you start to lose connection with reality. I make myself get up and get out and do a chore....anything....every single day. Well, okay...most days. Some days, the pain and fatigue are too heavy and I just can't get out of the bed. But, a nurse once told me that if I stay in bed for more than three days at a time, it becomes a habit. I don't want that habit yet. Plus, it scares my wife. If I stay in bed for even one day, she starts trying to coax me out with offerings of going to movies (something she DETESTS), or going to see Christi's twins (they are too beautiful for words and babies are my opium.) I am not brave; I'm just not ready to let go of life yet.
4) JOURNEY. I think that this one probably bothers me the most. T agrees. "If one more person talks about your journey, I will deck them," she says. I am not on a journey. Or, I suppose, we all are, in a way. But, this is not a special journey that I am taking. This is not a special lesson that I am learning. This is a very bad set of circumstances that genetically happened to me. I am dying. I am not on a fucking journey.
5) Hero. Oh, for fuck sakes. I am nobody's hero. I do not have super powers. I am not weathering battles and beating back dragons. Most importantly, I will not come out on the other side a winner. I will not come out changed for the better. I have known a few people with cancer who said that it changed them for the better or it happened for a reason, but most just agree that it sucked big time and they would have preferred not to go through it. That they didn't really learn anything useful except who their true friends were. And those that do say that cancer was a beautiful gift are just pious prats. We are people who had some bad luck. One day, if there is a future, we will know why people got cancer. Why some were spared and others not. But, for now...no one is a hero. We are just doing our best. Or not. Some days, I don't even do half of my best.
6) Cancer was a wake up call. No. It was not. I was plenty awake before. Most of us were. Cancer just happened.
7) Prayer will save you. Shut up. Now. Prayer is lovely. Prayer is wonderful. But, prayer will not save anyone. I survived cancer twice before this and I am telling you right now, it was not because of prayer. Prayer was a beautiful honor. Prayer gave me strength. Prayer was a soothing balm. Prayer did not save me. And if your Aunt Tillie died from cancer, it was not because she didn't pray hard enough or because you didn't say a rosary every day for her. She died because it was her time. She died because her body could not fight it off. But, maybe prayer helped her in other ways. Prayer, to me, is like being held with such tenderness. It cannot take the pain away, but it makes me feel less lonely inside of it. Lucy sent me a Marco Polo yesterday and she always ends with, "I am sending you all my white lights." This is prayer. So, thank you for your prayers, but do not think you can save me.
I can tell you this: cancer does not discriminate. It doesn't care if you have really good insurance like I do, or just medicare, like one of the women in my support group who has learned that there is SO much of cancer care that medicare DOES NOT cover. She has already taken out over 100 thousand dollars of her savings. Cancer doesn't care if you are a new mom and don't have time for this shit. Or if you are the sole caregiver to your Dad. Cancer just is.
That night, I asked T to tell me a word or phrase that she really likes.
"Easy," she said. "Those lines from Game of Thrones. 'You're mine and I'm yours. If we die, we die. But, first we live.'"
Now those are words that I like very much.
On this particular night, we were talking about words and expressions that we have come to despise. Most, of course, are cancer related.
1) Fighting a battle. Often people talk to me about fighting my battle. As if I am a warrior on a battlefield. And frankly, they aren't far off. It often feels that way to me, too. But, I do get sick of it. Cancer is a disease. An insidious one. It is the Goliath to my David, no doubt about that. In fact, sometimes I feel foolish even trying to fight it. As if I am a kindergartner standing in a field with a pile of rocks, facing a gangster with a Tommy gun. I mean, why try? But, the human spirit is strong and so, we fight.
2) Run in the family. I am often asked if cancer runs in my family. And, boy howdy, are they relieved when I answer that, yes, it does run in my family. Like eyes and noses run in families. Fingers. I think that most people want to be assured that they probably won't get it. And if they don't have it running in their family, they figure that they won't. They breathe a bit easier. I don't share that many people who have cancer are the first to get it in their family. I think it is also hard for breast cancer survivors to be around me sometimes. Because, you work so fucking hard to beat it and then, afterwards, the LAST thing you want to hear are stats telling you what your chances are of getting it again. The odds of it recurring go down after five years, but there are thousands of cases of people getting it even twenty years after they beat it. They key is to just to live your life.
3) BRAVE. Thank you for telling me that I am brave. I am not, though. If you saw how many times that I am just walking around my house and suddenly bend over as if I've been kicked in the stomach and then start crying, you would not call me brave. There was not one time when I saw my name on those chemo or arsenic bags when I didn't feel as if I might throw up. The fear went through me like lightning every. single. time. I maybe am a good faker in front of you, mainly because I don't want to look like a wuss. Inside? I am quaking most of the time. I hate each and every second that I have to spend in a doctor's office, taking chemo pills, walking around in a chemo daze, or looking around a waiting room at other bald people. I just don't know what else to do. What else is there to do? Sit in a corner and bawl all day? Been there. Done that. If you do that, you start to lose connection with reality. I make myself get up and get out and do a chore....anything....every single day. Well, okay...most days. Some days, the pain and fatigue are too heavy and I just can't get out of the bed. But, a nurse once told me that if I stay in bed for more than three days at a time, it becomes a habit. I don't want that habit yet. Plus, it scares my wife. If I stay in bed for even one day, she starts trying to coax me out with offerings of going to movies (something she DETESTS), or going to see Christi's twins (they are too beautiful for words and babies are my opium.) I am not brave; I'm just not ready to let go of life yet.
4) JOURNEY. I think that this one probably bothers me the most. T agrees. "If one more person talks about your journey, I will deck them," she says. I am not on a journey. Or, I suppose, we all are, in a way. But, this is not a special journey that I am taking. This is not a special lesson that I am learning. This is a very bad set of circumstances that genetically happened to me. I am dying. I am not on a fucking journey.
5) Hero. Oh, for fuck sakes. I am nobody's hero. I do not have super powers. I am not weathering battles and beating back dragons. Most importantly, I will not come out on the other side a winner. I will not come out changed for the better. I have known a few people with cancer who said that it changed them for the better or it happened for a reason, but most just agree that it sucked big time and they would have preferred not to go through it. That they didn't really learn anything useful except who their true friends were. And those that do say that cancer was a beautiful gift are just pious prats. We are people who had some bad luck. One day, if there is a future, we will know why people got cancer. Why some were spared and others not. But, for now...no one is a hero. We are just doing our best. Or not. Some days, I don't even do half of my best.
6) Cancer was a wake up call. No. It was not. I was plenty awake before. Most of us were. Cancer just happened.
7) Prayer will save you. Shut up. Now. Prayer is lovely. Prayer is wonderful. But, prayer will not save anyone. I survived cancer twice before this and I am telling you right now, it was not because of prayer. Prayer was a beautiful honor. Prayer gave me strength. Prayer was a soothing balm. Prayer did not save me. And if your Aunt Tillie died from cancer, it was not because she didn't pray hard enough or because you didn't say a rosary every day for her. She died because it was her time. She died because her body could not fight it off. But, maybe prayer helped her in other ways. Prayer, to me, is like being held with such tenderness. It cannot take the pain away, but it makes me feel less lonely inside of it. Lucy sent me a Marco Polo yesterday and she always ends with, "I am sending you all my white lights." This is prayer. So, thank you for your prayers, but do not think you can save me.
I can tell you this: cancer does not discriminate. It doesn't care if you have really good insurance like I do, or just medicare, like one of the women in my support group who has learned that there is SO much of cancer care that medicare DOES NOT cover. She has already taken out over 100 thousand dollars of her savings. Cancer doesn't care if you are a new mom and don't have time for this shit. Or if you are the sole caregiver to your Dad. Cancer just is.
That night, I asked T to tell me a word or phrase that she really likes.
"Easy," she said. "Those lines from Game of Thrones. 'You're mine and I'm yours. If we die, we die. But, first we live.'"
Now those are words that I like very much.
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