Call it a road, call it a journey...

I’m in a bit of denial about my treatments. I am not so much reeling from my third chemo treatment as running away from the idealism of it. I’m already tired of thinking of myself as unhealthy. This obviously has its challenges because I have to consider my surroundings in all my decisions in order to ensure my current and future health. With that said, however, I’m struck by how much not giving into the idea of cancer has helped me lately.

This might not be a method that works for everyone. It occurs to me that we each deal with a strife, whether biological or not, in our daily lives. Perhaps this is my strife. This is not a disease that will inhibit me, it is just part of me. I won’t grow accustomed to it, but I will respect it for what it is.

I’m nauseated at the thought of what is put into my body to dissolve this mass hiding out in my left lung. Talking about it makes a hole in my stomach and leaves me speechless. I dry heave almost unconsciously because the experience of chemo is just awful. There is nothing positive about it, but hope. When I sit in that room with a maximum of 5 other people, we are all waiting for our individual treatments to commence and finish. We all look at each other silently, acknowledging this truly strange quest we have each been given.

When the treatment is over, we sling our proverbial packs over our shoulders, and continue on with our day.

In theory, denial is the beginning to the cycle of grief. I have already experienced different sides of it in what has felt like the longest near 2 months, including anger and depression.

Maybe there is no grief in this scenario.

I question myself, as if perhaps I’m not feeling what I should be feeling. Had I already reached acceptance and now I’m going backwards?

Is there a right way to feel about cancer or any life-threatening illness, disease, or event?

It feels like it has been handed to me unceremoniously. I’m not receiving a scroll or an order with a ribbon around it; I’m receiving a crumpled remnant of scrap paper. What could I possibly glean from this?

In not getting caught up with cancer, I’ve settled into the very cozy feeling of love. Not necessarily romantic love, though, that is there too. Just the cushion of caring people: it’s nourishing and affirming. It’s very encouraging how the idea of love is both simplistic and complex. It’s in actions and in words. It’s in knowing glances and in smiles. Allowing myself to be enveloped in this feeling and sharing it is incredibly rewarding.

I’ve only told a few people, but mortality has been the absolute last thought on my mind since my diagnosis. Even I second guess myself, thinking that should be the first and initial waking thought in my head, but it’s not and nor will it be.

I just keep thinking about the next day and how it will get better, because it has no choice.

I refuse to let it be anything else but a better day.