When I was planning my wedding and having breast cancer surgeries, for the most part I allowed myself to be angry. I allowed myself all of those feelings. It’s true: I focused on the good and did the best I could to push forward and find new and better ways to look at the situation. Ultimately I decided my wedding trumped the breast cancer. I decided to live life that way, while still letting myself be angry.After my final surgery in September I decided I was done with the breast cancer. I knew I was still reshuffling. I knew I still had to find my place in this life, post-breast cancer. I had to find my purpose, my meaning, my balance. But I told myself there was nothing left to be angry about. I was healthy, I was healed, I no longer had breast cancer, and my life was and is phenomenal, more than I could have ever dreamed of. I told myself there was no room for anger. That I had been angry long enough and now I had no reason to be angry.
People with breast cancer, now they could be angry. I wasn’t allowed. Because I was better, because I was stronger, and because I had created this “new” life of Pink and Pearls and public speaking and 5Ks and a double century bike ride and getting involved in the community and sharing my story and building a house and making plans and planning parties and getting more involved with my work and working harder and eating healthier and eating cleaner and coconut oil and kale and yoga. Because I had gotten BETTER. Because I actually overcame the cancer. Because my life had no limits. Because I COULD run, so I should. Because I COULD register for a 200-mile bike ride, so I should. Because I COULD choose what to eat. No restrictions: dietary, physical or otherwise. When for so long there were SO many restrictions. I couldn’t lift my arms, couldn’t lift a gallon of milk, couldn’t walk Campbell, couldn’t sleep on my stomach, couldn’t sleep on my side, couldn’t eat after midnight. And then? None. I had my life back. No, correction: I had a “new” life and I was going to augment it. Make it bigger, make it better; say to the breast cancer: “no, you took nothing from me. Instead, look what you gave me! Strength, in mind and body.”I didn’t get to be angry anymore because I had built this new life.
But there was one problem. I’m still angry.
I think more than anyone, I, myself, forget that feelings don’t have rules. There are no rules on when and where and how you’re “allowed” to be angry. You can be angry for no reason and you can be angry for a million reasons. I think I was so immersed, if you will, in not being angry and in doing better for myself (in my “new” life), I forgot I still had some anger. And I always will. And instead of bottling it away, I need to acknowledge it. I’m allowed to be grateful for my life and I’m allowed to want better for my life and I’m allowed to MAKE better for my life. But I’m also allowed to be angry.And I think I spend so much time expecting so much of myself that I forget this. I still have anger. Probably not every day, but it’s still there.
-When I was getting my survivor picture taken before the Pink Zone basketball game, and the photographer told me to pose with the woman in front of me – because the photographer believed that woman was my mother, the breast cancer survivor. No, I was there for myself. I AM the survivor. Young? Yes. But a survivor.
-When I have to call and plead and call again to doctor’s offices, trying to explain what Li Fraumeni Syndrome is and why I need an MRI and why I can’t have a dental X-ray. Why I need an MRI, yes, again, only six months later or a year later. Why I need, yes another, abdominal ultrasound. Why I can’t have mammograms. I no longer have breasts. Yes, I’m only 28. But I no longer have breasts.
-When people dismiss me because of my age, saying or implying I don’t have any “health issues” because I’m “so young.”
-Trying to explain why my chest hurts when I ride a bike. I have breast implants. No, not in addition to regular breasts; in place of. Why? I had breast cancer.
-When I try to tell doctors this or that needs to be followed up with immediately because I’ve had cancer twice and I have Li Fraumeni Syndrome, and they spell Li Fraumeni Syndrome wrong on me sheet because NOBODY’S HEARD OF IT.
-When I try to think of something smart and (not rude) to say when people try to preach the importance of breastfeeding directly to me. Thanks, but I don’t have breasts. Actually, not all women have breasts.
-When people ask me when I’m having a baby. (Do you want the short, 15,000-word answer, or do you want the long, 900,000,000,000-word answer?)
-When I’m at a new doctor’s office for the first time and I have to fill out the part of the questionnaire that says: “have you had any previous health problems?” And there’s only ONE line to write ONE cancer.
Despite having amazing doctors, people really still don’t understand and often don’t take me seriously when I call to make appointments. Because I’m so young they don’t think I need this or that, or they tell me to “keep an eye on it.” It’s hard to have to explain myself and defend myself and fight for myself all the time at doctor’s offices because I’m the one who knows my body and I’m the one who knows about LFS and I’m the one who found my breast cancer, so you better as hell believe I know what’s going on.
So yes, I guess there still is anger. Those are feelings I maybe don’t address anymore because I’m “done” with the breast cancer, so they don’t have a place anymore. But I need to realize that they do. Anger is natural. If I address it instead of bottling it up, I may actually feel more at peace. I may actually feel I’m being honest with myself.I need to let myself in. I think I got lost in trying so hard to be better. I think I forgot what exactly it is that MAKES me better. And that’s looking deep down and figuring it out. I already know the journey doesn’t stop. I already know life is hard and it will probably be hard again. I already know I live in the moment. But maybe I need to figure out, again, that yes, I’m better, and yes, I’m lucky. But I’m also angry. And because that feeling is genuine and honest, it has a place. Let me put it in its place: a little pocket tucked away. Not bottled. Not hidden.
There, but tucked. It’s not dominant.
But it exists. I need to accept that.
No comments:
Post a Comment