I am trying to think of all the expletives I possibly can, but none can even faintly brush the surface of what I have been feeling for the last month. I could say ‘angry’ and ‘furious’ but it feels when I say it like I am referring to another person. “No, surely this person isn’t me… what I am feeling is far more horrid than then these small, meaningless words?” Descriptives such as ‘insane with anger’ and ‘burning with rage’ still only vaguely pierce the top layer of the shell I have created for myself. And that’s the thing, which no one understands.
No one ever seems to understand the walls that we as patients, have to erect in order to keep ourselves going, to keep moving, to keep the time passing. The faith we have to own must be so strong so that everyday when our reserve in questioned, we have resources to fall back on. We cannot rely on those around us; this much is proven. We have pillars of strength within our lives that drive us to and from physical locations, but to no fault of their own, there is no one that can carry this. So we learn to stand tall, so at least when this all turns pear shaped we will go out with dignity. Not even the closest family members can possibly fathom what we have had to make ourselves into so that we may summon the bravery that is needed. Isn’t it fair to assume that our anger and resistance will remain present for months after we succeed in this venture?
I find that we are expected to change like the wind, turn sad on bad news and then smile on cue when the PET comes back clear. The idea is of course, that if our emotions are thoroughly predictable than they can be handled. Unlike anything else your friends and family will have to acclimatize to. After all, enough has changed in their lives without you becoming “different” or daring to reflect what is being felt inside, in the pieces of you that you think that cancer can’t touch. We are proven wrong on that point, almost immediately.