Cancer
I've been absolutely worn out today. On a day when I'm too tired to make coffee, you know that I'm wiped out. My stomach hurts, and I'm a little shaky. With everything I've read about hysterectomy recuperation, even at this five week mark, that's normal after the busy day I had yesterday. You really don't realize how much you use your abdominal muscles when you drive until they've been compromised. I'm really not complaining. I'll feel better tomorrow because I'm resting today.
What I can't get off my mind is the word cancer. Before my surgery, I knew that it was a possibility. One of the challenges of endometrial hyperplasia is that the lining of the uterus can grow so thick that it can hide cancer. When I saw my doctor the day after surgery, one of the first things he said was, "There was no visible cancer, but we still have to wait for the tissue tests." Now, I know, it was there. It was microscopic, but it was still there. Like all things invisible, it doesn't seem real.
Heaven, help me. Yesterday, when the doctor said that cancer cells had been found, but the surgery had taken care of it, my very first (and well hidden reaction) was wanting a cigarette.
I've gotten off easy, and I know it. I am one of the lucky ones. I've avoided real cancer. My mind is filled with images I don't want to write, and I can't help thinking about the ones who haven't been lucky. Why them? Why not me? And conversely.
I've had a mute prayer going on in my mind all day, for all those who are suffering, for those who are in fear, for those who are fighting, for those who are caring and observing this in others that they love.
Cancer. I've stood in its shadow now, but other than on future technical, medical forms, I can't honestly say that I've had it. I wish everybody who's felt this shadow could have my luck. I'll never understand the randomness with which people are struck with illness and tragedy. It's beyond the capability of my limited mind, and I'm willing to tolerate this as one of the sad mysteries of life. I nearly wrote accept, but that's just beyond the truth. I can't accept it, but tolerate, I must, because there is no other choice.
What I can't get off my mind is the word cancer. Before my surgery, I knew that it was a possibility. One of the challenges of endometrial hyperplasia is that the lining of the uterus can grow so thick that it can hide cancer. When I saw my doctor the day after surgery, one of the first things he said was, "There was no visible cancer, but we still have to wait for the tissue tests." Now, I know, it was there. It was microscopic, but it was still there. Like all things invisible, it doesn't seem real.
Heaven, help me. Yesterday, when the doctor said that cancer cells had been found, but the surgery had taken care of it, my very first (and well hidden reaction) was wanting a cigarette.
I've gotten off easy, and I know it. I am one of the lucky ones. I've avoided real cancer. My mind is filled with images I don't want to write, and I can't help thinking about the ones who haven't been lucky. Why them? Why not me? And conversely.
I've had a mute prayer going on in my mind all day, for all those who are suffering, for those who are in fear, for those who are fighting, for those who are caring and observing this in others that they love.
Cancer. I've stood in its shadow now, but other than on future technical, medical forms, I can't honestly say that I've had it. I wish everybody who's felt this shadow could have my luck. I'll never understand the randomness with which people are struck with illness and tragedy. It's beyond the capability of my limited mind, and I'm willing to tolerate this as one of the sad mysteries of life. I nearly wrote accept, but that's just beyond the truth. I can't accept it, but tolerate, I must, because there is no other choice.
Friends and strangers who have been lost. Friends and strangers who are struggling. Friends and strangers beginning this journey I wouldn't want anyone to take. You are all in my thoughts, heart and prayers. Especially our dear Robin.
posted by Cynthia at
4:51 PM
7 Comments:
Tolerate seems like a good word. An excellent word.
Scary, yes.
We are sisters. We hold each other together.
Does that make sense?
It does, Lisa. More than ever.
I read the title of this entry Cynthia and I felt like I'd been punched. I've been following Robin's story and have been so overwhelmed, I haven't known what to say. Right now, I'm thanking the higher powers that your news is good.
I love what Lisa said. And I hope that you and Robin and Lisa can feel the embrace of my heart.
Cynthia, just catching up on your story (I have a little extra time because I'm in the hospital. I'm fine. It's a long, boring story, but I'm going home today after being kept overnight for observation).
I want to say this: you are a deeply courageous woman. I also like that somewhat dated word, "plucky." And I thank God for you, for your gift with words.
Dear Everyone - just to say I am here with all of you. Recent news of a friend's suicide has left me feeling, yes Kat, punched, destroyed in fact, in pieces - Robin's situation (which is not yet quite clear to me, maybe not to her either) also hit me in the solar plexus - so with you, Cynthia, I rejoice, with all of you I pray to whatever god(desses) may be that we can all embrace our lives, find joy everywhere we can, and be there for one another in the dark and difficult times. Love and healing vibes, I hold you all deep in my heart.
I am glad for your good news.
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