Yes, I did it. I used the f-word, the mother of all cuss-words on my blog (Moms who swear WARNING -this link and others in this blog post contain obscene language).
I thought about the title – should I use the word “you” in it, or leave it out? And I realized that I definitely meant it personally – I’m not just exclaiming about cancer, I am exclaiming to cancer itself – F* you, cancer!
The funeral is next week. She was… a warrior – in every sense of the word. Not only a warrior, but a positive, spirited, happy one. She spread joy to so many others and supported those of us she knew who were battling cancer also. She joked about the “rocks in her shoes” (peripheral neuropathy from chemo) and told me even though it hadn’t gone away for her after all the years, that maybe it would for me. She was a positive influence to me at a time when I was having difficulty seeing the future ahead of me.
Anyone who has survived cancer gets a sickening heaviness in their gut and their soul when they hear that cancer has returned to target one of our fellow survivors. It takes away a little of our hope and our joy in the life that we have found again after finally being told we are in remission. And our belief that this is something we can put behind us someday crumbles some as well.
She made the best of her second chance at life after she battled cancer the first time. She worked at getting as fit as she could and she spent her time with her family and friends – spreading her joy of life. But the question is “why?” Why did she have to have a second chance at life in the first place? She never should have had to deal with this. It’s not like she’d made bad choices, or had done anything to deserve facing death in the first place. So, why her?!
It’s the randomness that scares us. It hits me, but not you. It came back for her, but not me. And there’s always that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop – when I say I am cancer-free, there’s always a “so far” on the tip of my tongue. I want to believe it’s over for me, but then when another of my fellow survivors loses their battle, it plunges me back into the bad times, the dark hours of lying in bed and thinking it could be me. What would happen to my family? Would I be filled with hate at the end? I’m not the most positive person in the world, and certainly don’t have the biggest heart. How would I face something like this?
So, f*ck you, cancer! F*ck you for causing so much pain and fear in her life. F*ck you for causing her family and friends to suffer along with her. F*ck you for taking her away from her family at such a young age so that she will never get to see her children get married or have children of their own. F*ck you for taking away her chance at the joy of someday holding beautiful grandchildren in her arms and pampering them as they grow. F*ck you for leaving a hole in the hearts of her daughters and her son and her husband that they will never be able to fill. F*ck you for taking her indomitable spirit out of this world, leaving just the memories behind.
I try to be a positive voice here on my blog. I try to spread hope and information about what having cancer is like. But today, all I can think about is the millions of people who have suffered. All the holes in all the families from losing someone to this f*cking disease. All the research that has been done all these years – while creating better treatments and enhancing quality of life for some of those afflicted with it – yet still has found no cure.
Today, I just can’t do it. I just can’t pretend that I have hope that everyone with cancer will be okay someday. That all of us will get to look at cancer from the backside and say I beat it. Because even if our cancer never returns, we’ve lost so much of our life in treatments and coping with after-effects and praying and hoping that it never comes back, sleepless nights worrying about every ache and pain. I’d like to spread positivity. I’d like to give you all hope. Maybe I can another day. But today, all I have to say is – F*ck you, cancer!