The metastatic cancer ladies are circling the wagons today. They're feeling isolated from what some of them call "the world of the living", or the "the world of the well". Their friends and family, their spouses and children, don't understand how unwell they feel. Their loved ones don't understand how tired they are.
I'm sure it's all true. I'm sure that some of their friends are avoiding them. I believe that some of their spouses just pretend that it's all okay. And I know that it's hard to listen to conversations about the future while carrying such uncertainty about what the future will be (or if it will be, really).
It just sucks.
We're in the middle of Daffodil Days. The American Cancer Society is selling daffodils to raise money, and cancer patients are being given gifts of daffodils. I call them cancer flowers, and I hate them.
Five years ago, when I was forging my way through chemotherapy with a stiff upper lip and the hope of a "cure", I was given a vase of daffodils while actually having the nasty nauseating koolaid colored chemoacid pumped in my veins. Cancer flowers. Blech.
Yesterday the administration at work gave me a bouquet of daffodils. I was crestfallen. At first I thought that they were just for me (the designated cancer lady), but then I noticed that all of the clerical staff had them.
I told NM about my disdain for the pretty yellow blossoms.
So... I've been sitting here, typing about the cancer ladies circling the wagons, and I looked over at the bouquet. It's the same vase, and the same white baby's breath... but the cancer flowers have been replaced with yellow chrysanthemums.
I think that some people are clueless and were always clueless and bad happenings & hard times makes the cluelessness apparent.
Other folks just don't know what to do, but want very much to help in some way.
I've been lucky. My husband rocks -- has rocked through good times and bad times, and most folks in my life have been with me through the ebb and flow of my response to this disease. They haven't always known what to say or do, and neither have I.
When we can get a few steps away from pain and exhaustion, or anger and disappointment (which is certainly not always, for me) then understanding runs both ways. For as long as I can, to the extent that I can, I want to be in "the world of the living". What that looks like down the road is still a mystery to me.
I'm sure it's all true. I'm sure that some of their friends are avoiding them. I believe that some of their spouses just pretend that it's all okay. And I know that it's hard to listen to conversations about the future while carrying such uncertainty about what the future will be (or if it will be, really).
It just sucks.
We're in the middle of Daffodil Days. The American Cancer Society is selling daffodils to raise money, and cancer patients are being given gifts of daffodils. I call them cancer flowers, and I hate them.
Five years ago, when I was forging my way through chemotherapy with a stiff upper lip and the hope of a "cure", I was given a vase of daffodils while actually having the nasty nauseating koolaid colored chemoacid pumped in my veins. Cancer flowers. Blech.
Yesterday the administration at work gave me a bouquet of daffodils. I was crestfallen. At first I thought that they were just for me (the designated cancer lady), but then I noticed that all of the clerical staff had them.
I told NM about my disdain for the pretty yellow blossoms.
So... I've been sitting here, typing about the cancer ladies circling the wagons, and I looked over at the bouquet. It's the same vase, and the same white baby's breath... but the cancer flowers have been replaced with yellow chrysanthemums.
I think that some people are clueless and were always clueless and bad happenings & hard times makes the cluelessness apparent.
Other folks just don't know what to do, but want very much to help in some way.
I've been lucky. My husband rocks -- has rocked through good times and bad times, and most folks in my life have been with me through the ebb and flow of my response to this disease. They haven't always known what to say or do, and neither have I.
When we can get a few steps away from pain and exhaustion, or anger and disappointment (which is certainly not always, for me) then understanding runs both ways. For as long as I can, to the extent that I can, I want to be in "the world of the living". What that looks like down the road is still a mystery to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment