Eff Cancer

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As I mentioned in my last post, I’m in an online support group for women who’ve faced breast cancer. And in that group, one of the members was dealing with Stage IV metastatic breast cancer. Today I found out she passed away.

It’s so strange because this is a person I only knew from her posts in this group. We weren’t close. But every time she posted, my heart just ached. She was my age. She was a professional traveler, who’d zig-zagged around the globe, sharing her adventures online. From all I could infer through her words and photos, she was a vibrant, happy person.

And now she’s gone. She suffered at the end. I know this because she would vent her frustrations in our group–intense pain, swelling that made it nearly impossible to even get out of bed, debilitating fatigue.

Less than a year ago she was declared “cancer-free.” She completed her treatment. She did what she was supposed to do. And still, this shit came back. And it killed her.

Normally when I hear things like this, I am awash in grief and fear, but tonight I feel different. I’m angry. So fucking angry. If cancer were a person, I would strangle it with my bare hands right now. I would revel in squeezing the life out of it. I would laugh as it crumbled in my grip.

It’s so completely fucking unfair that this woman is gone. That so many women (and men) have been taken far too soon because of this stupid fucking disease. Not to mention all those who’ve somehow survived, yet live with the detritus that’s left behind after treatment, surgery and the mindfuck that is facing a potentially terminal illness.

I wish there was something I could do. Some way I could make this stop happening. I’m so tired of people dying needlessly. I’m so tired of worrying that I will join their ranks before I’m ready.

Fuck this disease. Fuck cancer.

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Groupthink

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Not long after I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I received a packet of information from the cancer center outlining all their various support programs for patients and survivors.

Thumbing through the pages, I discovered I now qualified for all sorts of things from free yoga and massages (sweet!) to makeup classes for chemo patients without eyebrows and eyelashes (eh).

And of course, there was a slew of support groups–general cancer support, caregiver support, prostate cancer support–the list went on and on. I noted there was even a group for young women with breast cancer and mentally made plans to attend once I had some time to wrap my mind around everything.

But as my diagnosis set in and treatment began in earnest, I found no shortage of excuses for skipping the monthly meetings. I was tired. I felt bad. My kid was sick. I had to work late.

Truthfully, my social anxiety was the main culprit keeping me from showing up. So I was thrilled when a friend invited me to join a private support group for breast cancer patients on Facebook. Through this forum, I found the means to connect with others with similar struggles without the awkwardness or time commitment of an in-person group.

I’m still a member of that group today, although sometimes I think about leaving it or at the very least hiding it.

Don’t get me wrong–it’s a fabulous group. The women are truly amazing and inspiring and so kind and supportive. It has been a valuable resource for me, and I’ve even invited others to join.

But there’s a certain level of harsh reality in a group based on a health affliction. Sometimes things don’t go well. Sometimes people die. And when they die of the disease you all have, it’s really scary.

Just this month, one member who had a full response to chemo and was moving on with her life found out her cancer has metastasized all over her body. She’s currently receiving end-stage care. She’s also my age.

Even the friend who invited me to the group had a recent scare with some mysteriously broken bones. After a bone scan she thankfully got the all-clear, but it was another reminder that I can never let down my guard.

Even though it frightens me sometimes, I will stay in the group. I can take breaks for my sanity, but just like I know I can never fully put cancer in my rear view, I can’t let these women go.