Resilience, part 2

In response to my last post, I have to admit: I would be lying if I told you this whole thing was sunshine and rainbows. There have definitely been some dark places along the way. The initial diagnosis was terrifying; finding out I had the C-word made me literally weak in the knees.

Once I accepted the diagnosis, my thought process was something like: Oh, here’s my first tragedy. How grand! This will make me a more interesting person! What a stupid thought. Everyone has tragedies, and mine is nothing special. It’s just meant a few months of physical discomfort and occasionally thinking about my own mortality, nothing more.

There have been days, usually when my chemo side effects are the worst, when the hostility is boiling inside me, waiting for someone to make a rude comment so I can respond with a snarky, “fuck you, I have cancer.” That would really show ’em. Jerk. And what’s even more frustrating is that NO ONE has made any rude comments or cut me off in traffic or said anything about my (for lack of a better term) hairstyle or given me any reason to lash out! Eventually the anger fades away with the side effects, but it’s so unsatisfying.

I’ve certainly experienced sadness over the things I’ve lost, especially my physical fitness. I long to run on a trail in the woods, or ride my bike up a hill. And my hair. It’s maintained about 30% thickness–I think it would be better if it were just all gone. Smooth and bald. Instead I have wisps of hair, and I can’t decide whether to shave it so it comes back all the same length, or to let the hairs that are there continue to grow. There have been some body image issues, not just from the lack of hair, but also from the biopsy scars. And the weakness. I always took pride in being strong, but now carrying groceries in from the car makes me tired.

These things will pass, however. As my fatigue passes, my strength will return. I’ll be able to run in the woods again. I’ll start biking to work again. My hair will grow back. My great tragedy will come to an end, and I will go back to living my normal life. This is really just a little blip in an otherwise amazing and blessed lifetime.