That’s one of my incisions. I don’t actually still have a tumor, a cancer, growing in me anymore. I’m recovering from surgery and in the waiting phase to find out about my next treatment.
I kind of wanted to title this post “how to have cancer,” but that’s a really crappy thing to try to tell someone. fir starters, I can’t tell someone how they should react and deal with a super stressful diagnosis. Second, I’m me. I have my diagnosis. Every single one different. So, let me talk about life with a tumor by telling you how it has been since finding out it was there. Yes. Was... it’s out now.
It messed with my head. Like a lot! Cancer. Tumor. Malignant. That’ll mess up anyone. How seriously messed up is it that when my doctor first told me, I burst out laughing. Not because it was funny, but because it was hilarious. In a morbidly inappropriate way, I found it utterly stupid and hilarious that I had cancer. It was funny to me because nothing about it was funny. If that’s not the perfect expression of how much it messed with my head, I’ll never be able to explain it.
All the ugly crying. Seriously. So much ugly crying. It’s possible my hubby had to put his shirt in the dryer a couple few times. You’re probably asking when I cried since I laughed at my doctor. I cried when I learned I would be okay. When pathology came out with a good prognosis. Why’d I cry? Because I was so grateful to God for results I could live with. I was so overcome by relief and pure joy that I had one less thing to endure on this cancer journey. It’s one thing to have a tumor. It’s quite another to treat a tumor.
TIRED I’m tired all the time. Because surgery was a lot. Having a tumor, it’s a lot. Having cancer, it’s a lot. I’m tired.
Smiling I’m usually smiling. I’m usually cracking terrible jokes. It’s me in here still. Of course I’m cracking terrible jokes. For crying out loud, I laughed at my doctor. And now the tumor is out. And they got it all. And I have another reason to smile while I’m crying.