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.