I don’t do this very often, so hopefully you’ll forgive me this time. I’m about to rant. Please ensure you’re wearing protective gear.
I fucking hate cancer. And I know, yeah, duh. Who doesn’t. But really, I hate it more. I hate the disease, hate the way it tears through every single fucking part of your life, hate the way it stains every single thing. It’s insidious. It’s tenacious. And it’s cruel.
I hate the whole “bravely battling” bullshit. And I know, yeah, people do bravely battle. I see them every day in the cancer treatment center where my sister gets radiation and chemo and every test known to man. But I can’t stand the glamorization of cancer. There is nothing glamorous about losing all of your nose hairs from chemo and having nosebleeds that last for hours. Nothing glamorous about having excruciating diarrhea after abdominal radiation. And slipping on the side of the bathtub while you’re puking, cracking your collarbone on the side of the tub and fracturing your clavicle isn’t very exciting either. Trust me.
Cancer sucks ass. And it doesn’t stop there.
My sister is brave. But she’s not battling. She’s hanging on by the thinnest of threads, and she’s exhausted from it. You don’t battle cancer so much as cling to what little humanity it hasn’t sucked from you, and fight to keep that part of you clean of it. The meds fight it, the radiation fights it, but I don’t really see my sister fighting cancer.
She fights to keep food down. Fights to keep awake to help my niece with her homework. She fights to keep from screaming when the waistband of her panties rubs against the radiation blister. Fights to keep well enough to stay on the organ transplant list. So in her way, she battles.
I fucking hate cancer. And I hate what it’s doing to my family. Hate to see it literally eating away at my sister.
Selfishly, I hate what it’s doing to me, too. I’m not the one in constant pain, bald and blistered. So I feel a bit guilty complaining. But goddammit, I’m gonna complain. I’ve lost my privacy, my alone time, my sanity, my job, my bed, my savings, and a lot of days I feel like I’ve lost my life. I’m selling my house, moving my family and rearranging my entire life plan- all because of cancer.
We’re not bravely battling here. We’re fucking miserable, we’re pissed, and we’re exhausted. We’re not running around in pink shirts and being all inspirational and shit. We’re not having International Delite moments over hot tea. We’re not scrapbooking and trying on headscarves. We’re fighting with insurance companies, doctors and each other. We’re trying to get through the next minute at a time without killing each other. We’re moving three families from three houses into one, and none of us is happy about it.
There is nothing precious about cancer. It fucking sucks.
And I’m fucking tired.
My daughters were big babies. I was hippy dippy enough to insist on natural childbirth, and my second daughter weighed 10 pounds 12 ounces when she was born. Halfway through a very long labor, I was exhausted and scared and all I wanted was just a few minutes to rest. I could go on, if I could just rest for a few minutes. I begged the nurses to just give me a few minutes to sleep, and then I’d finish.
That’s how I feel now. I just want some rest. A break. If I could just get a few days to rest, I could go on. But just like labor, cancer doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give you time to get your breath or recharge your batteries. Just like labor, I’ll keep pushing, keep breathing, keep going. Because stopping isn’t an option now any more than it was then.
I’ve read caregiver’s blogs, boards and books. I’ve looked into home healthcare (she doesn’t qualify) and I’ve talked to my therapist. I know all the suggestions (take a break, get some time for yourself, take a bath, read a book, a weekend, a movie, blah blah fucking blah). “Take care of yourself first, or you won’t be able to take care of anyone.” I get it.
But how do you take a break from your entire life?
My niece is the bravest among us. I am 100% certain that she is the only thing that keeps my sister from just stopping. She keeps me from going postal, keeps my daughters from running away screaming. She plays her goddamn trombone, studies her science, and reminds me at 9 p.m. that she’s supposed to take 2 dozen cupcakes to school tomorrow. And she smiles. She’s the one who starts every smile that happens in my home these days. She’s the brave one.
I’m just bitter.
Cancer can kiss my motherfucking ass.
Because it has sure as hell kicked it.
And I know, yeah, life is what you make it. I read Chicken Soup for the Cancer Ridden Soul in the waiting room. Positive thinking, and all that bullshit.
The only thing I’m positive about is that tonight I’ll be baking cupcakes for the band’s bake sale, helping my sister pull her pants up and not sleeping anywhere near enough.
And I’m positive I’ll get up and do it again tomorrow.
Fuck cancer.
/end rant
gives you a long quiet hug.
no words.
Whiskey, I’m so sorry to hear of you and your families struggles. I wish I had some words to help you through but I simply don’t know what to say. I am in awe in how you and your family are still hanging in there. I can agree though in releasing the rant is good. Go ahead release and hopefully you will feel better and go ahead and take joy in any little thing that you can. Even making cupcakes. (smile)
Take care.
(Hug)
all i can do is share what my blackfoot teacher told me after learning he had prostate cancer. he said it was a test with new lessons to learn. that was six years ago. i saw him again a few weeks ago and he doesn’t look so bad. he still has the cancer and he’s still learning its lessons. he isn’t bravely fighting it. he accepted it and is living gracefully with its lessons. i watched my sister die of cancer. she agonized over the decision of whether to do chemo or not, and whether alternative therapies would help more. she decided to do the chemo and wasted away angrily from it and died. i don’t know what the secret is to being a survivor. i really don’t. but i do think there’s something to be said about how gracefully you live with it. big hugz. oki niksokowa.
I saw this quote yesterday on a friend’s blog and thought it might resonate with you:
“People cry, not because they’re weak. It’s because they’ve been strong too long.”
yea?……well fuck the blister i got on my heel from my work boots..i hope ur laughing..because that is about the only outlet u have..besides here.
don’t worry..when i get that magic golden ticket from the lottery i’ll come get u in the glass elevator..but i wont sing to u..u have had enough torture:P
You have the courage to explode using words instead of bottling it all up inside you. It is bloody hell going through what you are going through and your family and “yes” I can and will say that.
Dear Whiskey just know that all your friends are holding you tight, keeping you strong and fighting with you. Big big hugs and a squishie or two.
Anna
Ranting is good.
My heart ached in sympathy when I read what you have written Whiskey. I’ve been there for a time. Selfish? I think you are more than entitled to be selfish.
Cancer eats in to every part of your life and changes it. It changes the person who has or had the illness. It changes you. It changes your family. It changes your friendships. Even when Alex’s treatment was successful, the most painful thing for me was when the reality hit that there was no going back to the life we led before not to mention the fear that it still might come back. Bob’s final revenge.
I’ve been there, yet I’ve not had to cope with what you’ve coped with much longer : the additional strain of a loved one suffering a head injury and three households to try and run. That’s why Alex worries about you. He’ll probably kill me for writing this, but you know my other half through his writing or ‘ramblings’. He wears his heart on his sleeve and cares about people, in some cases more than they truly deserve. With you he worries as well. Not through some misguided attempt at leeching mental or emotional energy off you (as he told someone else not so long ago, “If my concern gets too much, just tell me to fuck off, I won’t be offended.”), nor through that twaddle he told you about being too old and too set in his ways to change, but simply that with everything you had to deal with, it was concern that you were bottling up your emotions inside like a pressure cooker waiting to explode.
I’m really glad you decided to let off steam. I know Alex will be too when he reads this.
So for now I’ll just say ” rant as often and as loudly as you want” and of course “the door’s always open”
Claire
I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. Whiskey, you are my hero.
If ranting helps, rant away. You carry so much, and you do it with grace and humor.
My sister and I moved my mother to town a six weeks ago to get her cancer treated, and I don’t know how you’ve made it this far and remained coherent, much less funny and caring.
If you lived nearer, I’d make you a (really bad) casserole, because that’s what southerners do to show they care when families are in distress. But for now, know that there are lots of virtual hugs and real admiration from far away.
My Mom and two cousins had cancer. One cousin survived and is healthy today. My mom and my other cousin did not. All three situations were hell in different ways.
I won’t say “I know how you feel” though, because in the end the pain is a very personal experience. I’ll just say glad you could rant and if I may, like Chestnut, give you a quiet hug.
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Ummm..everything my wife said.
Come to think of it, everything I’ve said to you as well.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with Claire…’heart on his sleeve’ indeed!
(gives you a long warm comforting hug)
Whiskey, If I could, I would come over give you all a {{HUG}}. I know it is a small insignificant gesture, I do know for a fact tho, that small insignificant gesture does carry a lot in it. It carries, smiles, hope, love, friendships, and a message saying you are not alone, your friends are here with you.
Whiskey,
I know you know how many times I’ve told you personally what a strong person I believe you are. I get to say the same thing, here, now.
You let me read this before posting it, and admitted to me that it might not actually see the light of day. I’m happy that you trusted me when I told you I thought you needed to post it – not just to help your friends understand your daily struggles outside of the virtual, but also because there were so many others – who have been in, or are in, a very similar situation with a loved one facing cancer. Others who need to know that they are not “bad people” for saying similar things to themselves – but only to themselves. That they’re “done with it”, even as they wonder if they will ever truly be done with it.
Never stop sharing with us.
I love you. We love you.
♥
Nothing anyone can say will make one whit of difference to what you are feeling- what all of you are going through. I am just glad we are here to listen when you need to let it out. It may not help but at least for a moment it is cathartic. We listen. I wish you strength and when it is possible, I wish you well earned rest.
I can add nothing to this. Caregivers, survivors, all know and understand. In our thoughts and Prayers
TIGGS
Thank you for ranting for those of us who can’t. In my case I’m not able blog, tweet, or mention online a family member’s struggle with this fucking, evil adversary, which robs us of love, happiness, and dignity.
It’s hard to keep the pain inside, but this reminds us that we are not alone.
“Being brave” isn’t keeping a cheerful, stiff-upper-lip demeanor; that’s babytalk from namby-pambys and little people who have never seen real combat up close & visceral. Sometimes things need ass-kicking, and it’s bravery to say so in the face of so much pressure to “be happy! be positive!” like some creepy Stephen King-like evil clown.
Thank you for sharing your life with me so generously.
“Anger is an energy” – Johnny Lydon.
“For every freedom fighter
I wanna hold on tighter
To the hope and will you gave
You were the brave
You were the brave” – Chrissie Hynde
What Marx said. Thank you for trusting your readers and yourself to post this.
Cancer sucks. It takes so much from everyone and that makes it suck even more.
Thank you thank you thank you guys for your comments. I’m so rarely speechless, but today, I am. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your kind words and hugs. I don’t feel so alone today. Thank you.
<3
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Thank you so much for sharing.
I lost my Mom to cancer, then my Dad to cancer, and then three months later was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer myself. Thank you for this rant. Someone needed to say it.
Thank you for a very affecting, sobering post. My husband’s identical twin — who is also one of my best friends — started chemo this week for lung cancer. The most we are told we can hope for — posssibly — is that it will extend his life a few months. it is breaking our hearts.