My Ghost Is My Shadow

Ghost.

Noun.

An apparition of a dead person which is believed to appear or become manifest to the living, typically as a nebulous image.

“The building is haunted by the ghost of a monk.”

Ghost by definition. Weird. I’ve always viewed cancer as my shadow, a Doppelganger of sorts, of course, seeming different on the out and in, but always like me, near me.

If ghosts by definition are “dead persons” then the ghost of cancer is my former self. My ghost is she. She was funny, charismatic, not afraid to say what was on her mind (which usually got her [ghost] into trouble often), and she was naive. She was not naive to hurt—she was used to that. At a young age, her father passed in an automobile accident. She knew hurt. But she was naive to time. Its thievery. How it can show up in a moments time, unaware, blindsided.

We’ve all heard stories from our Moms and Dads, Aunts and Uncles, and surely Grandparents. “It goes by so fast.” It was almost as annoying as the usual sayings like, “The early bird gets the worm.” “Who wants to eat worms?” I thought. Except for the one time in second grade when my sweet Teacher Ms. Roxanne Lindsy (who has since passed from cancer) read us “How to Eat Fried Worms” and brought to class chocolate covered worms. Only they weren’t worms—something like fried onions covered in chocolate to look as such. I wish I could remember if anyone had the courage to eat one. I know I didn’t. But I digress. Turns out they were right. It goes by so fast. Time. How different that saying sits now.

You see, once you hear the words, “It’s cancer,” a piece of you instantly dies. You can feel it. For me, it started with my lungs instantly deflating, no sound, and a hole in my gut. I stared out the window. But I had no thoughts, no emotions. Numb.

My ghost shows up daily physically with every ache. With scars and tattoo markers. Mornings start with swollen hands and tingling feet. Throughout the day, my ghost shows up on social media, in people you haven’t seen in awhile asking if you’re “OK”, a St. Jude commercial on the radio or television, a ribbon sticker on someone’s car, billboards, hospitals, TV shows, movies, the news, songs… my ghost is everywhere. All at once, always a shadow.

The ghost of cancer is loss. Loss of friends, loss of family, loss of cancer brother and sisters you lost along the way, loss of not knowing what survivor’s guilt feels like. It’s loss of hair, weight, self worth, self esteem, self love, self exceptance. A loss of self. Our Ghost. Our shadows.

The Ghost of cancer is lingering questions. Some go unanswered. The Who, What, When, Where, Why and How? WHO will take care of me? WHAT does it mean? When will I have an answer? WHERE do I go next? WHY me? HOW? That, that’s a hard one.

The Ghost of Cancer is the shell. The shell of our former selves.