Last year I wrote some blather that included the words “How do I ever really know that it’s gone? That it’s not there lurking?”
The answer, of course, is that you don’t. But somehow I was still surprised at the beginning of September this year when they discovered that my cancer has metastasised. Someone had the audacity to tell me that they were never surprised when cancer came back. Well, I was. For all my fears, part of me believed them when they told me good things; when they were positive at me and when people talked about 2 and 5 year survival rates.
So I feel really dumb now that I have cancer in a lung and in my spine and in my lymph nodes. I feel stupid for ever having believed that I could beat cancer. I feel stupid about all the times I chirpily told people that I seemed to be doing well and that I was nearly reaching my 2-year mark which was good news. Not good enough. I feel a bit like I’ve failed. Although I know that it’s nothing to do with what I did or didn’t do. Cancer just does what it likes and it obviously really *loves* me.
It’s a lot harder to be positive this time around because I know that this time there is no chance of happily-ever-after. If I’m lucky then it can be controlled for some time but there’s no chance of a “cure.”
This is a management situation only and I haven’t worked out how to live with a disease that’s trying it’s damnedest to kill me.