Cancer zen

Chemo creates bouts of uncertainty, but there are times when there is clarity, even in their singular moments.

There are times when I feel like I should be telling people: I’m fine, now save yourself. Somehow I feel like a ghost that has drifted into the background. This is by no means because of how people treat me, it’s just how the cancer makes me feel reflective.

There are days when I don’t feel well and I am motivated to move forward for the pure sake of finding inner peace. I liken it to standing on one foot and trying to stay balanced. Sometimes you have to focus on a spot on a wall just to stay upright. I try to work through the discomfort just to find that spot within my mind.

There are days when it feels like I’m freefalling backwards and I don’t know if the feeling will stop. I don’t know if something will catch my fall or if I’ll just get the breath knocked out of me when I land.

Maybe those bouts of uncertainty?

Today at my oncology center, they were holding a Cancer Survivor’s Day. I received a goodie bag with a t-shirt, some candies, and a Livestrong rubber bracelet. They also provided food and refreshments.

I recall they hung posters and signs in the chemo room and lab advertising the day, but honestly, I had forgotten until the day had arrived. I was merely showing up for a blood test. It was like a real party, complete with people who knew each other and had connected in the past. These were people who were on a first name basis with the doctors and nurses.

I felt so out of place.

While everyone at the oncology center knows me and knows about me, my age differentiates me from many of the patients.

I breeze into the hospital for my appointments, still in my work clothes, walking faster than most of the healthy people in the hallways. If it weren’t for the bare head or head wrap, you probably couldn’t tell that I was a cancer patient at first glance.

Today at the little event, I noticed that I was not just years, but decades, younger than my peers. It’s a contradictory feeling, seeing people older than middle age and elderly battle cancer. There’s a bit of a stigma that cancer happens to the elderly more than other age groups. Perhaps this is true statistically. However, it doesn’t make it any easier to watch someone older than me go through cancer. I’m sure the same could be said for the reverse.

Like the woman sitting next to me at the event today noshing on food. She was probably the first stranger who wanted to know my cancer situation and understood about the treatments. When I was leaving, she held my hand for a moment and said: “you stay strong sweetie.” It felt so odd, someone who is probably a grandmother, saying that to me.

One of the nurse technicians pinned a yellow ribbon on my sweater and gave me a couple of yellow roses.

I left the hospital with the roses in my bag, feeling a bit like a rejected prom date, ever aware and uncertain about my situation.

The thing I didn’t understand about the term “cancer survivor” before having cancer is that it is used even while someone is in treatment. The idea is that the moment you are diagnosed, you are surviving cancer.

A giant portion of the uncertainty is the midpoint PET scan, which has come and gone. I should find out the results later this week. I’m nervous and anxious about the fate of the monster in my lung.

Next week is also yet another chemo. Part of me thinks: didn’t I just do chemo? Maybe the last rounds of treatment will seem faster. In a blink, summer will be over.

Meanwhile, there is more time to work on my cancer zen.