Why did I get cancer? I love life; people; random conversations and hikes through mountains while thinking about my next meal. I love the complexity of life and I love living.
Why am I undergoing chemotherapy? Why are my veins bruised from drip? Bruised in places where the IV was not. It makes no sense. None of this makes any sense.
My friends seem healthy. They don’t have cancer. People twice my age don’t have cancer. My colleagues don’t have cancer. They continue working. I’ve moved in with my parents. Why?
Remain positive. Who is talking about positivity? You? Me? Both of us? What does positivity mean? Why am I spending twelve weeks of my life receiving poisonous medicine? I don’t understand what positivity has to do with it.
Can anybody explain why this happened to me? Screw positivity. Let me take this for what it is: a life-threatening illness. I’ve never experienced one of those before. I’ve been very sick, but not like this. It’s different. Cancer is different. It’s special. It just sounds bad. It sounds so bad that some people can’t even say it. Some people can’t even say “chemotherapy”. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to talk about cancer or chemotherapy either. Let’s just talk treatment.
Why is there a ringing in my ears, and it’s the least of my concerns? I’ve never been so nauseous in my entire life. There are times when I want to vomit my entire head, if that even makes sense. Anti-nausea meds don’t help. Darkness doesn’t help. If I keep my eyes and head still in just the right position I can find not a moment of relief, but of forgetfulness, until I’m reminded of the nausea.
I’m a runner, a writer, a joker. I’m a husband, father, son, brother, and friend. I am so many things. But I’m not a fucking cancer patient.
My head is balding. My eyebrows are thickening. My bones ache. I’m weak. Tired, Nauseous. Fatigued. Upset. Immobile. Lonely. Depressed about all these things but still not depressed.
I hate you, cancer. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.