Tuesday, August 12, 2014
damn it.
two in one week. two friends were taken by cancer within the last week. two friends completely unrelated in circles to one another died. from cancer. in the last week. damn it. i will never understand. i rejoice in the success stories. in the winners circle. for the lucky ones. i am faint to use the word "blessed". because i don't think my mother or bob or becky were not "blessed". it is the luck of the draw. and i don't know how you pull the golden ticket. i wish with all of my heart that i did. instead of doling out advice on how to rid the esophageal tract of chemo blisters or recipes to increase white blood cell counts or where to buy the warmest, yet still stylish, millinery for bald cancer heads... i wish i could hand out the lucky numbers for the cancer lottery. but i don't have them. and i don't understand. and it's days like these... two in one week... that i would really like to know why. tomorrow i will go back to giving cancer advice. real advice, like what do you do when they can't stop vomiting blood (watch the color carefully). or whom do i call when insurance says they won't pay (i've numbers for you to call). or my mom is stubborn and won't let me drive her to oncology appointments but she isn't safe to drive (i've got your back on that one too.) but for now, damn it. damn it all.
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Jess.
ReplyDeleteMy mom "beat" colon cancer when she had part of her large intestine removed 8 years ago. We use that term loosely, of course, because there's no beating cancer. There is only waiting, hoping, praying that it stays at bay just long enough for the next day, the next week, the next birthday to come.
My mom and I weren't super close before that dark time. I remember going with her to her chemo sessions, watching the poison flow into her body through a hole in her skin. A. hole. in her skin. And it all just fell away. The teenage angst that made me push her away. The cultural differences between us, I, having been Americanized. I remember staring at her and feeling very...primal. There were no more dinners and concerts and church and daytrips and museums. There was only live or die.
I am fortunate, of course, that my mother was able to "beat" cancer. But I know that technically, she didn't DO anything. The medicine, the chemo, the doctors didn't DO anything. It was the cancer that DIDN'T do it. And I know that it could have been just as well that the cancer DID do it.
There is no rhyme and no reason. We can only wait, hope, and pray.
Love you, Anna. Most days I don't allow my mind to wander to why. There is no satisfying answer. xo
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