Say it with me. Puff out your chest and scream it as loud as you can. Whisper it if you want to. But say it, verbalize it with me. On the count of three. One, two, three: CANCER SUCKS!
If cancer were a person, I’d kick it in the shin. I’d spit on it. I’d give it the biggest wedgie ever. I’d make sure no one played with it and that it never got invited to any parties. I’d make it my mission to make cancer’s life miserable.
In the past two years my husband has lost four family members to cancer: his mom, two uncles, and most recently his maternal grandmother. He also has an aunt battling cancer. On the 7th of this month we got the call that his grandmother was near the end. So Jason flew home from Alberta on the 8th. His grandmother hung on until the 16th. We kept constant vigil over her, only leaving the hospital to rush to Wal-Mart and buy new clothes. We slept in the room or in the TV lounge. We sponge bathed in the washroom. We sat around with aunts and uncles and reminisced and got to know his grandmother a bit better. We cried when she finally passed, but we were relieved also. Cancer no longer had her.
Cancer has been a constant in our life. An unwanted friend who just shows up even though no one wants them around. The drunk uncle falling into the tree at the family Christmas party. The guy on the subway who stares at your boobs.
So every day from now on I’ll wake up and be glad that I did. And I’ll say my own little mantra, cancer sucks, taking away a bit of power from it. Making it a little less scary.