Resolve

I'm tired. Tired of this existence. Tired of being sick. Tired of being a prisoner inside this illness. Tired of not owning anything in my life. Tired of not being trusted to know what's good for me. Tired of being alone in a sea of people. Tired of the frustration. Tired of not knowing. Tired of my chemotherapy induced short term memory loss. Tired of this marathon of a sickness. I'm tired. And I'm terrified that this will never end. 

One of the things that defines us as individuals is the ability to make decisions for ourselves. Our autonomy.  I no longer have that. I try to grab bits and pieces of it, and occasionally touch it, but it slips through my fingers like water. I love my family. I don't know what I'd do without them. They've been there for me through everything. But it's a weight on all of our shoulders as I try to navigate my way through this. I know my parents' love is incredibly immense. I know if the rules were reversed, I would do everything I could to help them, but they're not. And this is something they should never have to see. There's nothing I can do to shield them from this stress. This constant worry and concern about how I'm doing. How do I do this? How can I possibly remove this trauma from our lives? How do I stop the psychological torment that follows us around like a whimpering puppy? 

I wish I could say that through this I've been graceful and perfectly poised, but I'm not sure how that could be possible for anyone with cancer or going through intensive chemotherapy. I'm not even close to being the person I want to be. It gets to me too. I get grumpy and sad. I get exasperated and worn out. Though I try to keep myself together, this thing has made me lose my composure more than once. My family's constant worry about how I am crushes me at times. They shouldn't have to worry about anything but their next trip, or Mom's garden, or Dad's impending photo book. But here I am. The elephant in the room. Difficult to maneuver, even more difficult to coexist with. I become the thing to fuss about, to be concerned with, to become obsessed with. So I do my best to spread myself thin. I spend time with friends, I travel. I retreat whenever I can. When I have good days. 

It's hard to be the girl with cancer. There's a responsibility to fill in anyone who I talk to about my health status, to reassure them that I'm doing ok. But what is ok anymore? I'm surviving. What I wouldn't give to not make it the forefront of everything. It feels like cancer is my full time job. I'm not even sure how to talk about anything other than what I'm going through anymore. To not worry about this ridiculous situation I find myself in. To be silly again without a purpose behind it. Just for the sake of being fun. I wish I could turn off my brain. The constant voice inside my head that goes a million miles per hour in every possible direction. I would give anything for the simplicity of thought that good health allows. I've been trying to make plans for the day that I get the word to return to life as I knew it. But life as I knew it doesn't exist anymore. It would be impossible to go back there. The only way to move forward is to find a new life. And how do I do that? How do I find a way to survive after this? I loved my life before this all started. I'll be starting from scratch. With nothing but my ideas and hope. But that is the seed we all started with long ago. I had gotten so comfortable in my world that I forgot that's all that any of us have in the beginning. It's what we come from. It's the base of our strength. The foundation of who we become. And as difficult as it is to go back there, it will be my salvation. My inspiration, and my light. 

I often talk to other patients when I go in for my treatment. Dressing in costume with Jennifer has been a spark of humor for everyone in there. The patients, the nurses, the doctors and the receptionists. Somehow this ridiculous behavior has become normal for people in my infusion center to see. The other patients take pictures of us and remember to laugh. Maybe we make this a little easier for them, even for a moment. I'd like to think that it creates a unity within our suffering, that our combined energies embolden each other. Every day is a struggle for cancer patients. Every day we fight to regain normalcy. In our lives, in our family's lives, and our friend's lives. It's a constant thought. Our conversation, our acknowledgement of each other, and our smiles speak of a profound understanding of what we go through together. It's like a secret handshake when our eyes meet. That we know just by being together. That we can converse without any apology or sorrow and encourage our recovery with a simple look.

I've seen beauty within this pain. There are times in the infusion center that inspire me to look and be warmed from head to toe. There is an older couple. She's lost her hair and she suffers through her treatment. She sleeps a lot. Her husband is always by her side. I watched him feed her her lunch at my last chemo session.  An example of an undying devotion and a timeless love. As difficult as it is, they love each other with respect and open eyed faith in each other. I've seen parents stand by their child's side, wide eyed with concern and a subtle, almost hidden current of worry while watching the difficult process they wish they could take away. I've watched patients stand their ground with pride and strength during this process, even if all alone. I've watched pain and suffering fill a room, but the love of life rise above it. I've seen the kind of bravery that would break you at first glance, but inspire you if you gaze long enough. It's almost more than I can take at times, but makes me embrace my pride of being human and what we are capable of. 

Then all of a sudden I realized that it's ok. 

Ok to cry and be upset.  

Ok to question everything. 

Ok to be joyful. 

Ok to dream of a cure. 

Ok to think that this might not be a happy ending. 

I'm going to feel and think and do all of it. I now know that I can without it crippling me. I've been confined by my thoughts. Restricted by worry of how I should be. I feel a bit more free allowing myself to think openly. Though it's not the ending that I'm concerned with. It's the now. The ending isn't going to be easy. No matter when. It's the beginning and the middle that makes it all worth it. The part that makes your eyes prickle with tears. That makes your heart swell. That makes your blood rush and the giggles rise. The part that makes your palms sweat in anticipation. It's about the shivers up your spine right before the goose bumps. And the warmth of happiness spread throughout your body. And don't forget the butterflies in your stomach. I love the butterflies. That's what it's all about. 

"Do a loony-goony dance 'cross the kitchen floor,

Put something silly in the world that ain't been there before."

~Shel Silverstein