| Current mood: |  contemplative |
Time to purge.
To a cancer survivor, the word cure is all but nonexistent. It’s nothing more than a cleverly disguised ruse, a sham devised to make people feel more secure. It’s a security blanket: worn thin from use, riddled with holes, and with no hopes of forcing out the invading cold. It’s a trump to the ego, a relentless boasting of our vast intellect and superiority. It’s all a scam. Even the best intentions don’t make it true.
Curing implies a restoration of what once was. As if it was so simple. A little slice and dice, add in some nuke juice for good measure, and you’re as good as new. Cancer can’t be cured as easily as a broken bone is healed. Something breaks, deep inside, that has no hope of ever mending. There isn’t a band aid big enough. Something changes. Physically, emotionally, whatever it is, things will never be the same. Never.
Far beyond the date of my supposed cure, even further past the date of my remission, and cancer still has lingering effects on me. It took me a long time to accept that these are permanent effects. It’s just like skin, if you cut deeply enough, it will never return to what it once was. I’m okay with that. And I’m far beyond needing others to validate my feelings, to tell me that it’s okay to not be over this. Quite frankly, I don’t give a fuck. I’m not overly dramatic or one for theatrics. This isn’t a cry for attention. There isn’t a single emotion written in this journal that I’ve been able to express to someone’s face. I’ve never been good with oral communication, at least not when it matters. Shameless flattery I can do. Beyond that, and I’m at a loss. The words never come out right, at least not the way in which my perfectionist streak demands.
I get so frustrated at times at the slow progress of my life. I want to know everything, and I want to know it now. I want to make a difference. I desperately want to help people. I feel like a walking, talking cliché sometimes, but that doesn’t change how I feel. All of those wants gather and bear down on my chest, pushing the air out of my lungs, making me feel helpless and small underneath the weight. I put so much unneeded pressure on myself. I’ve never wanted to just do well. It could never be that simple. No, I want to be the best. Not even second best would do.
I am young, idealistic, and incredibly naïve. I’ll be the first to admit to all of those things. I got into a fairly heated debate with a member of my dissertation committee last week, with him telling me that the endpoint of my clinical trail wasn’t feasible. The endpoint is of drastic change to federally mandated guidelines. It would cost too much to change, he told me. And people knowingly increase their risk of cancer by smoking and drinking on a daily basis.
People like him infuriate me. Just because something is hard and seemingly impossible doesn’t mean it isn’t worth doing. The simple path may lead to more publication, grant money, and friends. But, at the end of the day, at least I’ll be able to live with myself. I may have made enemies, but my conscience will be clean. I refuse to simply turn my head the other way and pretend the problem doesn’t exist. No thanks. And I think he greatly underestimates just how many people have been impacted, in some form or another, by breast cancer. It’s hard to find someone without an aunt, a sister, a mother, a grandmother, a friend… who has been diagnosed with breast cancer. Feasible or not, I’ll still try.
Cancer has shaped who I am. There are a thousand and one bad attributes to my personality and health that I can blame, at least partially, on cancer. Because of cancer, I have this need to control everything around me. Big or small, it doesn’t matter. From the scheduling of my day to the direction of my life, I organize, plan, and attempt to control everything. Because of cancer I trust few people, and I never trust someone without a struggle. Because of cancer, I’ve got a multitude of personality defects and quirks that may very well make me too much of an effort for any woman to put up with for any length of time. Because of cancer, I’ve got a multitude of scars, a heart that’s most likely to fail, and lungs that will never work quite right. Because of cancer, I learned a lot of life’s lessons at an early age. Because of cancer, I sometimes feel completely alone. Because of cancer, I have the emotional baggage of a senior citizen.
Still, because of cancer, I’m reminded on a regular basis how grateful I am to be alive. Because of cancer, I found out early that your family is probably the only constant in your life that you’ll ever have. I found out who my true friends were. I learned that little in life should be taken seriously and that you can never laugh too much.
Life may be unfair. Justice may be nothing more than another security blanket term. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t make the most of the hand that you’re dealt.
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