Survivorship

Dear Cancer, You Are Now My Chronic Illness

Dear Cancer,

You have changed my life in ways you will never know. It was the beginning of January 2020 when we first officially met. It was a cool and cloudy day. I was sitting in bed watching HGTV when I received the call. I was 30. I had all of these plans and adventures I was going to conquer next, but this is far from what I had in mind. No one could have prepared me for this “adventure”—this diagnosis, my dad unexpectedly passing away, and the start of the pandemic all within months of one another.

Dear Cancer, You Were So Far Off My Radar

Dear Cancer,

You were so far off my radar that when you showed up I dismissed you as commonplace things. I was young and the fittest I had been in a long time. You first arrived as bruises on my shins in November 2020. I was getting back into rock climbing and of course, I had bruises. Soon it became comical how bruised I was. I shared you with friends and family. Look at this, I am so clumsy.

“Maybe you’re low on iron. Eat a steak and some spinach.”

Dear Cancer, What Do You Bring to the Table?

Dear Cancer,

What can I say that hasn’t already been said? You took my job, my house, my normal life, and now you take up space in my mind and body?

What do you bring to the table?

Pain and sadness. There are appointment times and pings throughout my back and shoulders as I stand in line, waiting to tell someone my name and DOB for the millionth time.

Dear Cancer, You Wanted to be My Only Friend

Hello Cancer,

I will never forget the day that we formally met. Your bad reputation had preceded you, of course. You had made a teasing visit in my life a couple of years prior, just to let me know that your presence was indeed a reality. You had visited a couple of other people in my life as well and I knew that you were going to be tough to stand up to. I vividly remember the doctor telling me as gently as he could that you had decided to move in, finding my ovaries to be a suitable place to set up your residence. I heard his words and then I went numb.

Dear Cancer, You Don’t Get Any of the Credit!

Dear Cancer,

I am so furious with you and I hate you in a way that words cannot even begin to describe! You came into my life at such an early age, and to say you completely changed my life honestly feels like an understatement. You totally turned my world upside down and you’ve taken so much from me. You have robbed me of so many of the pleasures and experiences of childhood and adolescence. You’ve taken my balance, wreaked havoc on my motor skills, zapped my energy, and caused me so much pain during our journey together, not to mention the pain and heartache you have caused my friends and family.

Dear Cancer, You Ruined So Much for Me

Dear Cancer,

I am so mad some days about why I don’t have an ordinary life. When I was diagnosed, I was only 33 and my babies were not even 9 months old.

You robbed me of so many fragile memories I have of my babies. You robbed me of their first birthday—I had to be at chemo instead of celebrating. Weekends in the hospital, months where I didn’t get to pick them up because of surgical restrictions.

Dear Cancer, You Are Light and Dark

Dear Cancer,

Twice you’ve come knocking at my door.
The first time I was only 36 and you snuck up on me,
slow growing, but caught early
in my endometrial lining
but the price to pay was total hysterectomy and the inability to have any more children.

Dear Cancer, You Were Never Invited

Dear Cancer,

A year ago you had the audacity to just storm into my life. You were never invited and you were definitely not expected. You just came in anyway. You have such nerve. Who does that? You have been really tough on me, but I tried to be tougher.

Dear Cancer, Go to Hell

Dear Cancer,

Youza B. F you. Go to hell.

Hope you die first,
Sophie

Dear Cancer, You Were A Dictator

Dear Cancer, 

It feels as if you have been with me longer than six months, and that is quite literally because you have. You snuck in and allowed my body to become your ally, to get what you needed to survive. You told my physical being that it would be okay and you wouldn’t cause any problems.