I’m really mad at cancer. My wife has it for the second time and currently is doing well medically. Emotionally, I’m not so sure. And I’m not so sure about me either. I don’t know how she does it. She goes to work and does everything normally as if she doesn’t have cancer. I have it, but it’s in my head. I don’t have cancer medically. I have it psychologically. It lurks behind every thought. It’s an invisible weight that just hangs on the end of every thought.
We plan for future vacations and such, or talk about our son’s next semester at college and at the end of each of those thoughts, unspoken, is cancer in the back of my mind whispering, “Yes, but I’m still here and you never know…”
Cancer is a thief. It has stolen my sense of security. It has stolen my ability to relax and think about the future. I feel terrible though. I don’t even have the cancer. I feel like I don’t have the right to have these worries if she is going about her daily life as if it’s not there. And so, I do too. I play pretend with her every day and hide my worry and stress as if it just isn’t there. I want to rant and rave and rage out loud against it. I want to fight the cancer with as much fury as I have, but that’s not the way it works. Cancer is a slow, sly, sinister enemy that lurks in the darkness. Unfortunately, sometimes cancer treatment is slow and silent as well and shouting doesn’t help. I guess this is my little shout, or perhaps my way of letting out a little of that steam, that pressure that builds up in my head.