I try not to wish for things that can never be…it makes my life more bearable to avoid this tantalizing exercise in futility. I do not waste my time wishing that I had never been diagnosed with cancer or that the doctors made a mistake and it’s really stage 3 and not stage 4. I try to focus on the good things. Yes there have been good things to come of this, like truly understanding how loved I am. This disease has created many a situation where I have seen first hand how truly considerate and generous people can be. I have been afforded a clear view of what really matters in life. And I know that more than anything, to love & be loved by your child is everything. I have received many blessings through this disease. Unfortunately, I am human and sometimes these blessings, wonderful though they have been, are not enough to keep me from wishing I could forget. I wish that just once in a while I could wake up and not remember even for an hour or so. I wish that I did not have to wake up instantly aware that I have cancer.
This isn’t some distant memory that fades with time. It’s always with me. It is the whirl of my oxygen machine that lulls me to sleep at night and greets me each morning. I wake up, propped up by pillows so that the port in my chest doesn’t shift to a painful position. I sleep sitting up to keep from laying on my side because my sternum had to be sawed open and it has never stopped hurting. Yes, waking up in a sitting position means that it will be a pain free day, but it also means I have cancer. If this weren’t enough to jog my memory, then taking a shower certainly would. My scars, my "battle wounds" as I proudly refer to them, are at once both reminders of my brave resistance and my vulnerability.
My life is marked and measured by the times before and after my diagnosis, my treatments, my surgeries, my last appointment and my next, my hair growing in or falling out. I always dread the beginning of the school year. Not because it’s the end of lazy summer days with my son, but because for whatever reason, it’s when my cancer seems to errupt. I try to be calm and expect the best while bracing for the worst, but Fall for me means getting myself battle ready and it saddens me. I used to love Autumn. I don’t anymore.
I am not perfect. I am not even close to perfect. So, at times when I become spiritually lazy or dragged down by fear and anger, I have allowed myself to wonder why me instead of some random pedophile. I have looked at people that I regard as evil and have truly questioned my fate. Don’t misunderstand me, this is not a question that I have asked often and this is not something I would casually or otherwise wish on anyone else. But it is a trying existence to be so constantly and so keenly aware of your mortality.
It is trying and lonely and made all the more so by being single. Yes, I have family & friends who love me dearly. But when the world has become silent and still and there are no distractions to keep the reality of my situation from baring down on me, there is no one to wipe away my tears and tell me that everything will be fine. Yes, I have myself and my faith and my strength, but sometimes it would be nice…sometimes it would be more convincing to hear the thoughts I rely on to persevere being spoken aloud by someone other than myself. Regrettably, I am a burden and I accept that. I am a single mom, unable to bear more children with stage 4 cancer. Not exactly the ideal profile for match.com.
Being in a relationship is something else that I have not wished for since I learned that the cancer metastasized. I would never think to saddle anyone with the never ending campaign that has become my life. Warriors must travel light and I have room enough for just one man in my life. My son is the center of my world. Giving him what time and attention I am able to for as long as I am able to is my focus. He has trooped it with me since he was eight years old. He has endured true hardship and apprehension in these past 6 years. He has suffered as much, if not more than I because of the uncertainty created by my illness. But to meet him, you wouldn’t know it. Jonathan is not bitter or sullen. He is an exceptionally warm and funny young man. He is to put is mildly, remarkable.
Jonathan’s resilience offers me strength and courage. His presence reinforces my purpose and renews my drive. His quick wit reminds me that not only is there hope, but a reason to hope. And his captivating eyes implore me to fight on even though I am not offered the respite of forgetting…because neither is he.
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