Today I was working with a particularly difficult client who ended up pulling a chunk of hair from my head with his teeth. This is in addition to the chunk he pulled from my head yesterday, only then he actually bit my scalp which ended up causing hours of pain after the fact.
Some days I really wonder why I love my job. I must have some special form of Stockholm Syndrome.
"Who needs chemo when they've got you around?" was my response to the hair removal. And really, I'm sure this kid could scare the pants off of any cancer that dared show it's face.
I tend to make cancer jokes quite often. It's just normal to me, and it's a big part of who I am. It's like making jokes about people with big feet or a hairy backside. It's just something that is, so why shouldn't we make the best of it?
Then I went and saw The Fault in Our Stars. Finally, I know. I can't believe it took me this long to go see it. I cried through most of it, and by the end I was convinced that to have cancer and be in love must be the very best way to live. And judging by the bucket loads of tears I cried both during and after the movie, only heaven knows how much I will cry once I actually read the book.
Most days it's fine that I had cancer, and I can laugh and joke about it. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Then sometimes I remember how hard it was, and even though I still wouldn't trade it for anything, I get just a little bit bitter.
Reason #1:
It was never a question of, "Why me?" in the sense that I had this horrible disease that could potentially kill me. It was more so after everything was said and done that I asked, "Why me? Why do I get to live? Why shouldn't Axle or Will get to live? What am I still doing here if they can't be?" Only God knows the answers to those questions, and I know that that's okay. But as I drove away from the movie theater, the wracking sobs came. I pounded the steering wheel as I yelled my questions to the sky. It's a feeling of guilt, confusion, responsibility, and a little bit of fear. What if I'm not good enough? What if I don't fulfill whatever purpose I was left here to fulfill? This leads me to the next reason for my bitterness...
Reason #2:
"I was supposed to be special!" is a line from the movie. The cancer patient feels gypped for not having the future that was so obviously supposed to happen. Whether you make it through the cancer or not, your future is now given a stigma and and expectation that is actually kind of hard to fulfill. If you don't make it through the cancer, your future which was supposed to be so promising is now stolen from you. If you do make it through, you're obviously supposed to live an extraordinarily amazing life, touch thousands of lives and find the solution to every problem this world has to offer. Because you're a survivor. It's a lot of pressure, and it's just not realistic. Very few of us go on to be national speakers and world wide inspirations, and most end up with a life sort of like mine. Going to work, reading to your parakeet every morning, wondering if you'll ever be able to pay off your student loans, hoping that you might get asked on a date one of these days... nothing big. Because it's not obvious anymore. I'm not bald, and the 60 pounds of muscle mass I lost has all come back. I can do pretty much everything the next 22 year old girl can do. I look normal. I do normal things. I'm no longer told on a daily basis how much of a fighter and an inspiration I am. I'm no longer looked at like I know what it means to live, or to die for that matter. I no longer feel like I make a difference or have much influence on anyone or anything. Wasn't I supposed to be special?
I know it sounds selfish and a little silly, but that's what's real.
I used to work at a bakery here in Pocatello, and one day a woman and her husband came in. She was in a wheel chair, and it took me longer than it should have to notice her tufts of wispy hair coming from underneath her beanie, and the way her clothes hung on her frail body. I knew. He so lovingly bent near her side as they decided what to order, and he kissed the top of her head as he rose. Just one bowl of soup and a roll for the both of them to share. I struggled to hold back my tears as I punched numbers into the cash register, but held my composure despite my racing heart and shakiness. As they left the counter I had to swiftly make my way to the back where I broke down sobbing.
I so badly wanted to say, "I've done it too! I know it's hard. I know it's long. But keep smiling and just cherish every moment. You will be fine. You're not alone. I know." I wanted the counter between us to disappear, maybe hoping it would dissolve the barrier of being strangers in a business transaction. I wanted to give her a big hug, or take her hand, or something! I just wanted her to know that I knew. But how was I supposed to do that?
"Hey, I see you must be undergoing chemotherapy! I had cancer too! Just so you know, I love you and know how you're feeling. It'll all be okay. Can I get you a drink with that?"
No. Bad idea. This is what makes me frustrated. I still have my story. It still happened to me. I fought, learned, grew, and thankfully came out on top. I know that at the time lots of other people were strengthened too, but now what? I just go back to being no one of consequence? I do the hum drum day to day things that apparently my life has become? Is this okay? Aren't I meant for more than this?
I may not be bald anymore, but I'm still fighting to come out on top. Still hoping to make a difference. Still learning and growing. Trying so hard to be amazing, because I know that's what I'm meant to be. Maybe it's that lady's turn to be the one making the difference. In any case, I guess all I can do is keep trying. Isn't that what we're all doing? And I'm learning that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Yours Truly
Disclaimer: Everything negative about my cancer is in this post. I really actually love my cancer. It would take me days to write a post naming all the positive things about it.
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