So much for a dramatic build up and a big reveal, as the title gives away the secret I have been harboring. Recently, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and gained admittance to a club that I never wanted to be a part of, and my question as to which has been the worst year of my life, 2011 or 2015, has finally been answered, with 2015 being the clear winner. Now, that 2015 has claimed this auspicious title, I really hope that it rests on its laurels for the remaining two months.
Revealing my secret is a decision that I remain unsure of, even as I do it. Part of me does not want this news to go beyond my immediate family and close friends, and part of me hopes that the truth will lighten the heavy emotional load that comes with this news. I am quite adept at hiding behind a well crafted façade, but I believe in truth in advertising, so, to speak. And the truth is that I have breast cancer.
As I take my first tentative steps down this path, I don’t know what to expect, except for one thing. I expect to live. From the moment the words, “I’m sorry; you have breast cancer”, ricocheted in my mind, I decided straight away that I am getting out of this club as quickly as possible. I am not particularly fond of the color pink or ribbons in general, and I am a much better caregiver than someone being cared for by others. I don’t belong here. Nobody does.
It is rather strange to not look or feel sick, yet having something lurking inside of me that means me great harm. Sometimes, I forget about, what someone special to me has dubbed, the “shit in your tit”, and other times, I am gripped with sheer panic at the very thought that I have cancer. All I need to do is look at the bruises and scars that dot my breast to be brought back to reality. My carefully maintained calendar now serves up a foreboding preview of what awaits me, as it is littered with medical appointments and procedures. This is just the tip of the iceberg, and at times, I feel like the Titanic headed straight for it.
Even though the Titanic sank, there were survivors, and I intend to be one of them. I want to pull my fellow club members into the lifeboat with me and paint the town red, not pink. Since there is no going back to life before my diagnosis, I can only make the best of it for those closest to me and for myself, and I hope to emerge from this whole and healed physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
So, there you have it. The cancer’s out of the bag, yet still in my breast, and I know that as soon I publish this, I will regret it. For it makes it even more real to share this publicly, and this is all just still so surreal. The reality is that I have cancer, but it doesn’t have me.
That’s another story . . .
Categories: That's Another Story