Tag: cancer

Surviving Cancer

There is something people who’ve battled cancer rarely say. “I would have been better off dying from cancer than living as a cancer survivor.” You may hate me for saying this aloud, but I know there are others in my position, holding the same thoughts they feel they are not allowed to say.

We tell ourselves that we would be ungrateful to even think such a thing, and so we keep it inside. Cancer treatment may have kept us alive, but for some of us, it also left us living with losses and limitations that have reshaped our lives in ways we never expected.

The result is a complicated reality where gratitude for being alive exists alongside a deep sense of grief for the life we once had or believed we would return to. It’s a hard duality to live with.

Please tell me there are others who struggle with this.

Here are responses from fellow cancer survivors.

“There is a tightrope one walks, with trauma in one hand and gratitude in the other. Medical PTSD is real and suffering is real. I don’t tell myself anything about being ungrateful. Yes, my life is very different in many ways. I have dark days. I see a counselor. I participate in a grief group. Please don’t feel shame or blame. Nobody “hates” you for your cancer journey. If I was physically suffering to the point that life was unbearable, I would do assisted suicide.“

“You are NOT alone!! It seems the side effects of treatment and surgery are (in some ways) worse than the cancer itself!! Keep keeping on. I support you.“

“It’s okay to feel this way, doesn’t mean you’re not thankful for life. There is that fine line where many of us make a choice of is enough enough for treatments or I’m still fighting. The aftermath of treatment is different for us all and how our bodies hold up.“

“Every single day. If not for my 3 girls, I’d have given up a while ago. I live with an ileostomy, debilitating pain, constant fatigue and depression. I fought to live. But not this way.”

“I struggle with this every day.“

“I do. I’m absolutely glad I’m still alive, but there are most definitely days where I’m so miserable and depressed about where I am now that I have asked myself that question a few times… Was it worth it? Yes and not always. I would absolutely do it again, I just wish I had known how much different I would be after it was all said and done.“

“Every. Single. Day.“

“I’m going thru this everyday now…. I felt better at 3 months post treatment the i do almost 1 year post treatment. My exhaustion is debilitating, my body hurts all day every day, the doctors won’t listen and just push u off on other doctors “

“Not to the point of not wanting to live with cancer any longer. It’s been a long, hard struggle…for me 6 months and not done yet. Hospitalizations, near death experiences, and all the rest. I keep the cards sent me for encouragement…keep them in a special book. It helps at the low times. At the low times I try to remember what it was about life I treasured so much. “

“Yes, it alters your life. I am 26 years out from Stage 4. My doctor was honest with me and told me I would hurt every day for the rest of my life. He said he was sorry, but I was alive. You have to learn to do things in moderation. I can tell you some things improve over time, and you have to change your habits and expectations. You have to find new things that bring you joy.” 

“OMG..you stated exactly how I feel. I am so wracked with issues that I barely recognize myself. The fatigue is unbelievable. NO ONE understands!! Bless you on your journey.“

“You’re not the only one who grieves the body they once had and the person they were before treatment. I do, too, although my side effects are minimal compared to many others and I feel grateful for that at the same time. It’s complicated and challenging but hey, that’s how life is, I guess, so I keep trying to make the best of what is now.” 

Cancer Always Has the Final Word

Image of a teal ribbon, which is the symbol for cervical cancer.

It doesn’t matter if the ribbon is pink, or teal, or any other of a myriad of colors. It means another person has heard those heart-stopping words: You have cancer.

Once those words are spoken, disbelief does something strange. From that moment on, you barely hear anything else that is said. Or maybe you hear it, but you don’t understand it. You certainly don’t remember it. The words bounce around the room like sound effects in a movie theater, echoing without meaning, until everything turns into a kinetic blur.

And if you happen to be alone when those words are spoken, the first time you try to say them yourself, they come out one of only a few ways.

Sometimes they are choked out through sobs, leaving the listener struggling to understand what you are trying to say, only knowing that whatever it is has shattered you.

Sometimes they come as a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible, but powerful enough to silence the room.

And sometimes, you don’t say them at all. You keep them locked inside, afraid to even whisper the words you are certain you must have misheard, even though deep down you know they are true.

The unfairness hits hard. Why me?  Reality hits.  Why not me?

All the qualifiers the oncologist offers, “We’ve caught it early.” “The chances of getting this under control are promising.” “Surgery alone may take care of things.”  They ring in your ears. But your heart and your mind hear something else entirely. They see the worst. The awful realization that your life might be ending, and that there is still so much you planned to do. Wanted to do. Needed to do.

The people you might be leaving behind.
The good you always meant to do.
The changes you intended to make.
The challenges you believed you would someday meet.

All of it floods your thoughts and your body at once. It spins together into a blinding, hopeless spiral of the life you could have had, if only you had known.

But don’t we all know that life is finite? Fragile? And yet we are stunned when that truth becomes more real than we ever imagined it could be.

Reality is something we push aside while we live our daily lives. Sleep. Wake. Dress. Eat. Work. Repeat. Over and over, without much thought.

The plans we always meant to follow through on slowly slip away with each step we take and each quiet thought we set aside. The day-to-day cycle becomes the pattern. The pattern becomes everything. It spins until we barely recognize that there was ever anything else.

Until the word, barely spoken, speaks: cancer.  And the pattern changes so quickly it disarms us.

Now the pattern is appointments. Recovery. Radiation. Chemo. Maybe immunotherapy. So much stops mattering. The world shrinks almost overnight.

Nausea.  Retching. Exhaustion.  Malaise.  Shrinking.  An endless fog of confusion.  Alternating devastation and hope.

We live for the day this aggressive pattern ends. We wait to be finished. To be well. To continue our lives. We believe that once this is over, everything we dreamed of will still be waiting for us.  But cancer always has the final word.

For some, life itself ends the conversation. For others, the collateral damage left behind by the disease, and even more by the treatment, forces life to be reordered. Reorganized. Reassembled. Reimagined.

The things we mourned when we first heard that word are no longer possibilities. We recover. We mourn. We go on. But we are never the same.

Regardless of the ribbon color. Despite the unpronounceable name that both specifies and reduces our lives. Not even when survival is the outcome.

We return to a pattern. A slightly altered one. Waking. Dressing. Eating. Working. Resting. Dreaming. A life reshaped by a single word that still echoes, long after it was first spoken: cancer.

Cancer Changes Everything – Jan Mariet’s A Day in the Life

“I’m Fine” – The Reality of Surviving Cancer – Jan Mariet’s A Day in the Life

Products That Make Life Easier When You are Battling Cancers of the Mouth, Tongue, or Throat – Jan Mariet’s A Day in the Life

Products That Make Life Easier When You are Battling Cervical Cancer or Cancers in the Abdominal or Pelvic Area. – Jan Mariet’s A Day in the Life

Where Were You? – Jan Mariet’s A Day in the Life