In which we resolve that: "Cancer is fucked."
If you want to talk about how unresolved anger causes cancer, fuck off.
I'm not going to mince words. Cancer. Is. Fucked. And I'm writing with a pseudonym which provides me some freedom to express the not-so-nice lady sentiments, in a forum that I hope helps some of my sisters and brothers with breast or other cancers to allow in the full range of emotions, from the pissed off table slam to the full on crie de coeur.
My intent with this blog is to document not the "journey" but some small vignettes, pros and cons, and thoughts and impressions as I deal with this disease. I'm not against alternative therapies.What I resist is the implied blame inherent in many of these: that if only you'd taken more cannabis, if only you'd been a kinder person, if only you'd done more of this and less of that, well....
You know. That is a road that will take you to despair. And that, dear reader, is not anything you need more of. Especially if you have, or if someone you love has been diagnosed with the dreaded rhymes-with-dancer crab.
As for the title of this blog, Chesty Puller is the most decorated marine in all of American history. He also said, "They are in front of us, behind us, and we are flanked on both sides by an enemy that outnumbers us 29:1. They can't get away from us now!" I normally resist military analogies, but this one speaks to me.
Also, there is the obvious nod to the physical manifestation of the mastectomy. Chest, pull. The side of the chest that no longer has a breast is a line, two pulled segments of flesh stitched tight. Like a tight-lipped smile.
Or grimace.
Posts will vary in length and content, and will probably be occasional.
Your comments, feedback, experiences with cancer are most welcome.
You’re absolutely right- Cancer. Is. So. Fucked! I eat banana pudding too. I stare at my ruined chest, my one headlight asymmetric ruin and can’t bring myself to touch the numb skin. It creeps me out. I am not a pretty bald lady. I look like one of the old men muppets, the grouchy, sour-mouthed puppets because, I was also gifted with a Bitchy Resting Face and a big nose. I guess, if this is supposed to be some kind of lesson, I’m to learn looks don’t count. But in our world, they sure do. And I put on my wig and smiley face every single damned day, go to work and play the perky survivor because I work with little old people who are scared to death of losing me. It blows and I hear you. I finished chemo 4 days ago. The Neulasta’s kicking my butt. And I don’t know where I go from here because who the hell knows where we go from here?
ReplyDeleteOh, Nancy, I am so glad you eat banana pudding. I love the headlight image. I'm sorry this reply is so late but I totally get the numb skin. It reminds me of a pout. If you were here I'd give you a cup of coffee and we'd both talk about where we don't know where to go. Lots of love and courage to you.
DeleteJojo