I found a little something I jotted down before bed the night I had been diagnosed.
As I looked into the mirror tonight, I thought, “I have cancer.” The thought seemed so foreign –as it should—and I once again felt as if I were watching another person’s life play out before me. *I* don’t have cancer; I can’t. This stomach issue isn’t that serious…right?
I realize, the nurse part at least, that this is a stage of grief: denial. So is the irrational urge I have to hit things and scream at my PCP who insisted this was “just a virus.” (Rage –I’m making headway.) I also know the water works are part of the grief package. The take charge attitude –that’s part acceptance and part me, the girl who doesn’t know what else to do. It’s hard to know what to say to people right now. How do I fee? Not sure. What do I know? I have cancer. What do I need? To not have cancer. To not even be writing the words I have cancer in the same sentence. The simple fact remains that I do have cancer. I have adenocarcinoma. I could die.
Sometimes I am just numbed. I will fight. I will survive. I have too much to live for. Cancer sucks and it picked the wrong girl to mess with.