SUE - a breast cancer survivor
  • Home
  • Snippets: My blog
  • My story
  • Prayer Shawls
  • 31 stories for 31 days
    • Day 1: I got the news>
      • Day 2: Those crazy 4 men
      • Day 3: Chemo: What a wonderful time of the year
      • Day 4: Bald
      • Day 5: Seroma, hematoma, fudgicles...I am swollen!
      • Day 6: I feel pretty, oh so pretty!
    • Day 7: Weary and tired!>
      • Day 8: Where did my dreams go and did they get lost in Cancer?
      • Day 9: Germany
      • Day 10: Diversion
      • Day 11: Duke
      • Day 12: Did I ever tell you waiting rooms suck?
      • Day 13: Did I ever tell you my dad died of CA?
    • Day 14: My best friend’s sister>
      • Day 15: Graduation
      • Day 16: Book club
      • Day 17: Surgery
      • Day 18: What is it about Pittsburgh….?
      • Day 19: Radiation
    • Day 20: Now that the treatment is over>
      • Day 21: Toby,
      • Day 22: Reconstruction or not
      • Day 23: Prosthesis or not?
      • Day 24: Recurrence
      • Day 25: Nothing Special
    • Day 26: What have I learned?>
      • Day 27: Impact- Activist
      • Day 28: New Position
      • Day 29: Life will never feel or look the same.
      • Day 30: Reflections
      • Day 31: I'm here to help
  • Links
  • Contact me

Day 12: Did I ever tell you waiting rooms suck?

Picture


Did I ever tell you waiting rooms suck?
The anticipation of what lies ahead and seeing it sitting right there beside me is disconcerting.
I see people that have just been diagnosed, those that are in the midst of their treatment, those waiting for the start of their chemo, those that have just had surgery, those that have a recurrence and those that are here for their normal checks for THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.  
What is normal about any of that?  
I don’t deny that we have a common thread but that doesn’t mean I want to live, feel, see, and smell it all over and over again.
The faces of optimisim, fear, confidence and acceptance as well as denial and, yes, even joy - they are all looking at each other and determining where to draw the lines.  
I bring an I pod ( whatever the device was called to listen toback then), a book, a sudoku, candy, popcorn(my mainstay in all storms) lip balm, a pen, a blank notebook that haunts me for lack of words, and hidden in the bottom, a cross.  
Yes, a cross.
I am a believer.
I have faith, I am not angry or distraught, just lost - I pray.
In my life I have learned to make wishes,  carry a lucky penny,  avoid black cats and going under ladders and I do a lot of inner talk.  
There are people all around but no one really sees or hears me, I am haunted by myself and my own thoughts. Everyone is loving and caring but, I am alone.
This is the most alone I have ever been but really the first time I am really defined.
I am Cancer.  
Cancer defines me, my every moment, my every thought and directs my daily activities.   
I have needs and emotions and support, and a sea of do-gooders who just don’t know what to say or do.  A hug cures more than chemo, Hug me!  
I am laughing, I am always laughing it is my rock. I look to humor as my biggest support and it does not fail me.
I enjoy sharing my humor with others and turning their dark to light when possible.  
What happens when the cancer is gone, is there a me left?
What is my definition then?
Ah yes, my humor, yup- it is still there. Funny, I thought I misplaced it for awhile.
Picture
Create a free website with Weebly