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This morning I read an article covering an Australian woman who lied about having cancer and built an empire around it. She was caught, went off the radar for a bit, and is now being interviewed on television with the story “she lost everything.” I won’t link it, because I refuse to give That Woman clicks or further attention. I feel sorry for this person -- she clearly needs help, not television interviews.
My husband is heading off to summer camp today. Camp is my “home,” my happy place. It’s the place where I met and fell in love with Aaron. It’s the place where some of my closest friends are. It’s the place where I get to spend 8 weeks surrounded by some of the most amazing people who are spending their summer vacations making theatre and art.
I can’t go because of: Stupid. Effing. Cancer. My fragile immune system can’t yet handle the risk of bugs (creepy crawly, stinging, or human-infecting), buffet food, or being in close proximity to children. There’s something ironic in the fact that I managed to make it to the lovely woods of Connecticut for six years from far flung locations like Sydney, but now that I live less than two hours away, I can’t go. It’s heartbreaking.
On days like these, I feel like cancer has taken everything away from me. My old life was whisked away with the words, “You have acute myeloid leukemia,” and replaced with bone marrow biopsies, chemo, radiation, transplants, blood work, and the continual fear of relapse. Compared to the healthy, vibrant, energetic person I was, I have no energy. I’ve lost an entire octave in my singing voice. I can’t run. I have to be careful of where I eat. I can’t work. My hormones are a mess. I’m 30 and in menopause, but I keep getting what my doctor euphemistically calls “breakthrough bleeding”. If cramps, bloating, headaches, and bleeding for 3-5 days isn’t a period I don’t know what is. And it happens twice a month. I have large marks on my legs from the original infection that first landed me in hospital.
That Woman claims she has lost everything. And yes, there are days, like today, where I feel like I have lost everything. However, if you’re lucky enough to survive, there’s a weird paradox in having cancer. It gives you a whole new life. Sure, it’s different than before, and you miss the old days when you didn’t have a god awful unpredictable illness whose treatment makes you wish you were dead. Personally speaking, cancer has helped me to re-discover who I am. I have re-kindled my passions. I have learnt how utterly loved, and cared for, I am.
I am incredibly fortunate. I have health insurance. I have access to some of the best medical care in the world. I have a wonderful, loving, patient, kind, and funny, person to share my life with. I have family and friends who care for me. I live in a gorgeous sun-filled apartment in the city of my dreams. I have access to fresh food and clean water. I have everything in life I could possibly need.
I can’t go to camp today. It hurts. I’ll cry. I’ll feel that life is incredibly unfair and F.U.Cancer and your impact on my life. But I’m alive. And with a little luck and continued remission, I’ll be back next year. I haven’t lost everything. Life has just shifted, and look at what I’ve gained.
My husband is heading off to summer camp today. Camp is my “home,” my happy place. It’s the place where I met and fell in love with Aaron. It’s the place where some of my closest friends are. It’s the place where I get to spend 8 weeks surrounded by some of the most amazing people who are spending their summer vacations making theatre and art.
I can’t go because of: Stupid. Effing. Cancer. My fragile immune system can’t yet handle the risk of bugs (creepy crawly, stinging, or human-infecting), buffet food, or being in close proximity to children. There’s something ironic in the fact that I managed to make it to the lovely woods of Connecticut for six years from far flung locations like Sydney, but now that I live less than two hours away, I can’t go. It’s heartbreaking.
On days like these, I feel like cancer has taken everything away from me. My old life was whisked away with the words, “You have acute myeloid leukemia,” and replaced with bone marrow biopsies, chemo, radiation, transplants, blood work, and the continual fear of relapse. Compared to the healthy, vibrant, energetic person I was, I have no energy. I’ve lost an entire octave in my singing voice. I can’t run. I have to be careful of where I eat. I can’t work. My hormones are a mess. I’m 30 and in menopause, but I keep getting what my doctor euphemistically calls “breakthrough bleeding”. If cramps, bloating, headaches, and bleeding for 3-5 days isn’t a period I don’t know what is. And it happens twice a month. I have large marks on my legs from the original infection that first landed me in hospital.
That Woman claims she has lost everything. And yes, there are days, like today, where I feel like I have lost everything. However, if you’re lucky enough to survive, there’s a weird paradox in having cancer. It gives you a whole new life. Sure, it’s different than before, and you miss the old days when you didn’t have a god awful unpredictable illness whose treatment makes you wish you were dead. Personally speaking, cancer has helped me to re-discover who I am. I have re-kindled my passions. I have learnt how utterly loved, and cared for, I am.
I am incredibly fortunate. I have health insurance. I have access to some of the best medical care in the world. I have a wonderful, loving, patient, kind, and funny, person to share my life with. I have family and friends who care for me. I live in a gorgeous sun-filled apartment in the city of my dreams. I have access to fresh food and clean water. I have everything in life I could possibly need.
I can’t go to camp today. It hurts. I’ll cry. I’ll feel that life is incredibly unfair and F.U.Cancer and your impact on my life. But I’m alive. And with a little luck and continued remission, I’ll be back next year. I haven’t lost everything. Life has just shifted, and look at what I’ve gained.
1 Comments
Insightful, tragic and hopeful all at once. Stay well Lu!