Cancer Talk

Don’t stop worrying, don’t stop feeling sorry, don’t stop praying, don’t stop showing up, don’t stop offering help, don’t stop listening.

We cancer survivors are complicated — not more complicated than others who have faced their mortality head-on, but there’s a certain bucket we get put in when we let others know about our diagnoses. Many people just don’t know what to do with the information.

Yes, we’re survivors and thrivers and patients and caregivers and people just like everyone else trying to make every day count. The difference between those of us who have been diagnosed with cancer and those who haven’t, is that we now live every day with provided proof that we are indeed, mortal.

I look around and see many people who don’t go to doctors or who have clean bills of health no matter what they do or don’t do, no matter what they eat or drink — and I am envious of the clean slate they have. Yes, we will all die someday. But they’re not living with the constant fear that at any moment, our bodies can turn on us and make us sick. The likelihood of cancer returning can be high. I now live in six-month increments between CT scans. I’m lucky. It used to be three.

As my next CT scan creeps up, I find myself feeling more anxious than usual; I’ve self-diagnosed myself with anticipatory anxiety, and boy does it show up two to four weeks before I’m heading in. The perpetual pit in my stomach gets larger, and my adrenaline is omnipresent.

These appointments are terrifying for me. It’s not just about the results. It’s about the process. The returning to the scene. The smells of the hospital. The wristband that makes me a number. The observing of other cancer patients. The waiting room. The CT machine that feels like a coffin. Hold your breath. Breathe. The waiting for results that dictate my near and long-term future.

I’m generally a loner and find solace in silence. I will often talk to myself because I don’t want to burden others and/or I’m leery that those I talk to will not be able to reciprocate the conversation the way I want or expect. It’s human nature to empathize and one way we do that is to recognize ourselves in someone else’s situation. But I often find that conversations about me turn into conversations about someone else. And then I just get frustrated and turned off.

When I talk to myself, most of the time logic and data are unable to override emotion and fear. I tell myself not to borrow worry. I tell myself that whatever my results, I’m going to deal with it the same way I’ve already dealt with it. I tell myself that knowing is better than not knowing because I can take action if I need to. I tell myself I’m not alone. I hope someday, I’ll listen.

This post was written and submitted by Rachel Martin. The article reflects the views of Rachel Martin and not of CURE®. This is also not supposed to be intended as medical advice.

 
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