Dear Cancer,
I've been meaning to write this for a long time now.
On July 5th 2018, when I found out you had taken up residence in my body, how I thought I'd cope versus how I actually coped are two different things entirely.
I will never shake that terror, the utter surrealness of it all.
"Lauren", the Dr said in her beautiful soft Indian accent, "you're not having surgery anymore, you're having treatment." My stomach dropped, treatment? Treatment for the lumps. "You need chemotherapy, you have cancer."
The hours that followed were a blur, each second I felt like I was falling deeper and deeper into an infinite chasm. Vomiting in the sink whilst the student nurse sobbed. Shakily, slowly walking down the corridor past a waiting room full of oblivious faces. Seeing my Dad's face drop as he pulled into the hospital, me and my mother sobbing inconsolably. Cancer. Cancer, I have cancer. I hated how the word felt on my tongue, I hated how this was now my reality for the next however long it fucking took to kill this monster.
I will never shake that terror, the utter surrealness of it all.
"Lauren", the Dr said in her beautiful soft Indian accent, "you're not having surgery anymore, you're having treatment." My stomach dropped, treatment? Treatment for the lumps. "You need chemotherapy, you have cancer."
The hours that followed were a blur, each second I felt like I was falling deeper and deeper into an infinite chasm. Vomiting in the sink whilst the student nurse sobbed. Shakily, slowly walking down the corridor past a waiting room full of oblivious faces. Seeing my Dad's face drop as he pulled into the hospital, me and my mother sobbing inconsolably. Cancer. Cancer, I have cancer. I hated how the word felt on my tongue, I hated how this was now my reality for the next however long it fucking took to kill this monster.
I had visions of myself, sitting cross-legged in a hospital bed dressed in pyjamas and new pink fluffy slipper-socks, connected to my chemo drip, smiling and laughing with my mother, drinking cups of tea whilst tap-tap-tapping away on my laptop keyboard journaling my experience. Pouring out thoughts, emotions and feelings into words - my coping mechanism. If not every day, at least a few times a week. But that never happened.
You took so much from me. Leaning over the sink, feeling just completely numb, brushing hundreds of tiny strands of peroxide-blonde hair off my head every time I stroked what was left of my bleached buzzcut. Watching the ones that managed to not stick onto my sweaty palms falling and fluttering like dead leaves settling into the basin.
This is happening, this is actually happening. Watching every day my head becoming more sparse. More of my naked scalp on display. The thick black locks I had been devoted to growing especially for my wedding day, now just a memory, washed down the plughole. Fucking great, I'm going to be a bald bride, were my first thoughts. Actually, those were my second thoughts. My first thoughts? Am I going to die?
This is happening, this is actually happening. Watching every day my head becoming more sparse. More of my naked scalp on display. The thick black locks I had been devoted to growing especially for my wedding day, now just a memory, washed down the plughole. Fucking great, I'm going to be a bald bride, were my first thoughts. Actually, those were my second thoughts. My first thoughts? Am I going to die?
Lying in bed, three days post-chemo, every inch of my body hurting. Feeling it, feeling all of it. The poison in my veins, seeping into every cell of my being. Bones, skin, teeth. In my blood, pumping through my body, passing through my heart. I cry.
Thirsty, I lie daydreaming of gulping down cup after cup of ice-cold juice. My mouth, tongue and ulcerated throat hurt so bad all I can manage are tiny sips of lukewarm water every few hours. Hungry, my empty stomach growls relentlessly but the nausea so intense all I can manage for the fifth day running is a plate of scrambled eggs, and forcing that down is torturous.
I never considered a two-minute shower a luxury but after festering and sweating in my darkened bedroom for days, the gentle stream of hot water feels like a spa day, and the smell of clean skin the most glorious perfume in the universe. I didn't realise you had a smell, Cancer. Sickly sweet chemicals mixed with pungent body odour from the relentless sweating.
You fucking kicked my arse. Honestly, you really did. Well done. Because of you, my whole outlook on life changed. My priorities are clearer than ever, my former worries now pale in significance. You've toughened me up - I may be a little broken, hastily stuck together and sporting new ugly scars, but I'm fucking alive, I'm still here. You have made me feel like I want to die at times, but the fact is I don't. You make me want to live.
Cancer, you used to be a mystery. What should people do and not do, in order to avoid being caught by you in the cruelest game of "tiggy" we will ever play in life? The fact is, anyone is fair game to you Cancer. You'll catch one in every two of us, and we'll go down kicking, screaming, crying and bleeding whilst we do our hardest to wriggle free of you. You're an evil, vindictive, unpredictable cunt, but I have to give it to you - you don't discriminate.
Boy, girl, and all in between, young, old, baby, white, black, yellow, brown, gay, straight, tall, short, hedonistic, health-freak, thin, fat, chubby, athletic, brainy, bookworm, nerd, genius, lazy, low-life, wicked, thief, beggar, King, Queen, mother, father, daughter, husband, son, wife, loner, rich, poor, sober, addict, kind, funny, selfish. You honestly don't care. You have no rules, you make them up as you go and change them at will. You laugh in our faces when you cheat us after we catch a glimpse of hope - we think we might be free but then you come with your black claws and pull us back down into the abyss by our ankles.
But know this, Cancer. For all of the people you catch, more of us are escaping you. We're getting cleverer, we're figuring out your underhand tactics. The very bodies you love to invade, are the same ones whose brilliant minds are bringing you down, and whose resilience shines like a beacon in the darkness, most brightly when you think you've won. You can try and blow out our light, but no matter what happens, our flames can never be extinguished, no matter how hard you try.
We're all ganging up on you, a joint effort by all of humanity to finally catch YOU and put you back into your ugly, evil box.
You're not going to win.
You fucking kicked my arse. Honestly, you really did. Well done. Because of you, my whole outlook on life changed. My priorities are clearer than ever, my former worries now pale in significance. You've toughened me up - I may be a little broken, hastily stuck together and sporting new ugly scars, but I'm fucking alive, I'm still here. You have made me feel like I want to die at times, but the fact is I don't. You make me want to live.
Cancer, you used to be a mystery. What should people do and not do, in order to avoid being caught by you in the cruelest game of "tiggy" we will ever play in life? The fact is, anyone is fair game to you Cancer. You'll catch one in every two of us, and we'll go down kicking, screaming, crying and bleeding whilst we do our hardest to wriggle free of you. You're an evil, vindictive, unpredictable cunt, but I have to give it to you - you don't discriminate.
Boy, girl, and all in between, young, old, baby, white, black, yellow, brown, gay, straight, tall, short, hedonistic, health-freak, thin, fat, chubby, athletic, brainy, bookworm, nerd, genius, lazy, low-life, wicked, thief, beggar, King, Queen, mother, father, daughter, husband, son, wife, loner, rich, poor, sober, addict, kind, funny, selfish. You honestly don't care. You have no rules, you make them up as you go and change them at will. You laugh in our faces when you cheat us after we catch a glimpse of hope - we think we might be free but then you come with your black claws and pull us back down into the abyss by our ankles.
But know this, Cancer. For all of the people you catch, more of us are escaping you. We're getting cleverer, we're figuring out your underhand tactics. The very bodies you love to invade, are the same ones whose brilliant minds are bringing you down, and whose resilience shines like a beacon in the darkness, most brightly when you think you've won. You can try and blow out our light, but no matter what happens, our flames can never be extinguished, no matter how hard you try.
We're all ganging up on you, a joint effort by all of humanity to finally catch YOU and put you back into your ugly, evil box.
You're not going to win.
