I don’t want to have cancer today.
I just don’t.
It’s nothing big.
I just don’t want to.
It’s probably the pending surgery on Monday that’s got me here.
I’m just starting to feel better from the surgery two weeks ago. The incision under my arm is healing, the incision on my breast is healing. The bruising is almost gone. The pain has diminished greatly, though I’m still dealing with some range of motion issues that should go away eventually. I’m even ditching the ugly, white surgery bra for a real bra today. Though the Filmmaker joked that he found the ugly bra kind of sexy in a ‘50s housewife sort of way.
But Monday, they go back in through the incision in the breast and dig out some more tissue. The pathology report showed some pre-cancerous tissue around the margins so they have to go in and take out more.
Great.
No problem.
I want it gone, it want it all out.
But today, it’s daunting because this is all the beginning of what is to come and I don’t want what is to come.
I see my friends dealing with chemo and I read about what it does to you. And it’s easy to say, oh, it’ll be tough for a few months but then you’ll be through it and it’ll be fine.
But that’s not the truth, is it?
The effects of chemo and radiation can linger for a long time. And today, it’s a huge mountain to get over.
So today, I just don’t want to have cancer.
Today, I just want to feel the Filmmaker’s arms around me, holding me, telling me it’ll be all right, like he did just a little while ago. I want to hide in the crook of his arm and the warmth of his smile.
When he first saw me when he got back from Cannes, I was so nervous about him seeing me with my scars and my steristrips and all the mess that I was. I was so worried he would never want to make love to me again because I felt so hideous. But afterward, when I lay in the hollow of his arm, I cried because I felt so safe, so secure with him, with everything. So comforted. So calm.
But today, I don’t have his arms and I don’t have his eyes. It’s just me today.
And today, I’m not sure that even he could soothe me.
Because, today, I don’t want to have cancer.
But I do.
3 comments:
I'm so sorry about the re excision sweetie!
I know exactly what you mean about "don't wanna." I often want to stamp my feet and throw a tantrum to make it go away. And there is a good chance for you that it will. There's no cure but they can drive it to the point where it may never raise its ugly head again.
The chemo will be hard because they will be hitting your cancer with everything they've got. You will endure it and it will end. It will suck and it will end.
Use the ladies at breastcancer.org for support. They have tips and tricks for getting through it all.
But I don't wanna either, nobody does.
Thanks, Melanchlyswan. I know you've been at this longer than I have and I appreciate your insights and comments. I'm sending you love as you go through your struggle.
Sending you strength.
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