I wish someone told me

I wish someone had told me—
Told me how much it would hurt.
Not the blade that cleaved my skull
To extract the unwelcome guest,
Nor the threads that stitched the wound shut,
Or the scar, fracturing my head
Like parched and cracking earth.
No—what hurts most is unseen,
An invisible scar that tears at my heart.
It’s the sadness of seeing my body swell
From the poisons they call medicine,
Of watching my hair abandon me,
Leaving my scalp bare and alien.
My heart bleeds anew each time
The mirror reflects this stranger I’ve become.

I wish someone had told me—
Told me about the tears,
Rivers of them, endless and unyielding.
Not tears for the cuts, the scars, or the nausea,
Not for the needles, the scans, or the sterile rooms,
But for the silent, lurking monster within,
The one that grows when I am alone at night.
It towers over me, casting shadows
That whisper truths I cannot bear:
“You are ill. You are small. You are weak.
You belong in bed, not in an office.
Forget the dreams of motherhood.
Forget the old you. You are different now.”

How different?
Not outwardly—
But inside me ticks a bomb,
Counting down to detonation.
“Cancer cannot be cured,” they say.
“We can only slow its march,
Delay its inevitable return.”
My protests fall mute,
A voiceless scream on a muted screen.

I wish someone had told me—
Told me how much change I would face.
Not just the shift from health to illness,
Or the new label stamped on my identity:
Cancer patient.
But the change in those who love me most—
Those who once urged me to chase my dreams,
Now begging me to rest,
To slow down, to savor the present.
“Learn from your past,” they say.
“This is what happens when you push too hard.
You brought this on yourself.”

They do not see the old me still fighting,
Still dreaming,
Still hoping for a future
Because I am only 33.
But my pleas fall on deaf ears,
And my life has changed irrevocably.

I wish someone had told me—
Told me how long I would need patience.
Not the patience to endure surgeries,
Endless scans, and dripping IVs.
But the patience for the unrelenting surprises:
Radiation therapy declared before the first wound heals,
Egg freezing rushed into motion before radiation begins,
And the blow of another year of chemotherapy.
Each surprise elongates the nights—
Nights that stretch into eternities,
Each one demanding patience
I barely possess.

All these nights of loneliness,
Of crying myself to sleep.
All these days of pitying glances,
Of proving, again and again,
That I am still me.
All these moments, heavy with silent pain,
Of memories too sharp to share.
All the unspeakable sadness—
I bear it alone.

I wish someone had told me.
I wish someone had told me.
I wish someone had told me
To prepare for this:
This stark new reality,
Where my vibrant world turns to grey,
Where music is muted,
And art loses its colors.
The blinds are drawn shut,
The candle snuffed out—
And darkness closes in.

I wait.
Wait for a spring
That may or may not come.