The best of us

I have to admit, I read a lot of articles online about breast cancer: research news, treatment advacements, and possibly the most upsetting and yet inspiring, other survivor stories.
Most of the time I am outraged at what breast cancer does to people, at what these women and their families are forced to go through. I am especially outraged when I read about young women like myself dealing with breast cancer. They're in their 20s or 30s, are pregnant, or have young children, or perhaps are just starting college and aren't even married yet. Yet they have to face this debilitating illness that will maybe rob them of one or both breasts and their fertility. What outrages me the most is that there's nobody to blame. When you read about anybody getting cancer you want to be mad FOR them. You want to scream out loud for the young boy or girl who undergoes, every day, toxic treatments because they have cancer and are forced to miss school, or the families of someone who lost a loved one to cancer, or the woman with the breast cancer who doesn't have a choice but to get rid of her breasts.
With cancer there's nothing and nobody to blame. That's because it doesn't discriminate. We don't know who will get cancer, or why, or when. Most cancers we don't know how to prevent, and even the ones we do (or think we do) know how to prevent, still attack people. Innocent people. All the time. For reasons we don't understand.
That last statement has been particularly trying for me as I attempt to grasp the fact that I've had cancer twice before the age of 26. I've already talked about how life isn't fair, and I've gone through my stages at being mad at the world and coming to grips with reality. I've already established that this isn't fair and I have every right to be mad and anxious and paranoid. Over the past few months I've worked hard to reach a new level of acceptance and to actually use my experiences in a positive way, such as this blog. But what I'm having trouble with is WHY. Why to all of it. Why me, and why any of us? Why now? Why ever?
I don't think anyone will ever be able to accept cancer and what it does to us, and for me, especially, it's maddeing, really, to be mad when there's nothing in particular to be mad at.
I've gone through moments of being mad at people who have never been touched by cancer and are ignorant to its affects. And them I remind myself that not only has everyone been touched by cancer in some way, I wouldn't wish this dreaded disease on anyone.
Sometimes I get mad at doctors and scientists and researchers for not figuring out what causes cancer. And then I remember that without them, we wouldn't be alive. They save our lives, every day.
And then I get mad at the media for not talking about breast cancer in young women. But then I remember without the media, we wouldn't get to read about research, treatment advancements and other survivors. We wouldn't learn about medicine the way we do, or be able to reach out to others in the same situation as ours.
I know the real answer isn't to be mad, because even if there was someone or something to blame for breast cancer and all other cancers, would that make anything better? Of course not.
We'd still be sick and we'd still fight and we'd still cry, whether or not we've got someone to blame. The truth is, if we had something or someone to blame for cancer, we'd probably focus on blaming that thing or person and being angry at that thing or person instead of challening ourselves to possibly the toughest task of all: looking deep inside ourselves to find solace in even the most terrible times, and to use cancer - one of the most gruesome and grueling mysteries of life - to inspire ourselves and others.
I think one of my life's biggest challenges is to turn negatives into positives. We all talk about that. We all mention making lemons into lemonade. But this is deeper than that. I have to challenge myself, every single second of every day, to find the good in things, and as hard as it may be, to not be mad, because it's a waste of time and energy. I can easily pinpoint the amazing things in my life: Sean, my upcoming wedding, my AMAZING, incredible and supportive friends and family, my job (most of the time), my health (otherwise), my passion, my love. I recognize all these things. But the challenge is to not only recognize them, but to fit breast cancer into the picture somehow. Sometimes breast cancer is a part of me but not all of me. Sometimes it's all of me. Sometimes it knocks me down. Sometimes it makes me mad. Sometimes I use it to inspire and reach out to others. Sometimes it's a "bump in the road." Sometimes I feel I can move on from it. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I think it is making me stronger. Sometimes I think I don't want to have a reason to be stronger.
No matter what, it's there. It's everywhere. All over the world. Knocking down people and their families and friends. I think of cancer like a dodgeball: red and a little dirty from being hit around in the dust. I see it knocking over people, sometimes fast and sometimes slow. It's fast because you don't know it's coming. And it can be slow because sometimes you don't know it hit you. People of all ages.
But then I picture these people getting back up again because, really, they have no choice. They may be mad, like me, but then, like me, they come to the realization that there's nothing in particular to be mad at. They know that being mad is a natural reaction, but they also know that deep down inside, being mad is not what they want to be. So instead they fight, internally or externally, or both. They fight in a million different ways. Sometimes fighting means challening yourself to not be mad at something you can't control.
Sometimes these people survive cancer and sometimes they don't. But in my opinion, they're always, always getting back up again from the big hit with the red ball.
That's because there's no one way to get back up after cancer knocks you down. You do it in your own way.
So when I read about these other cancer survivors, I am allowed to be angry for them, but that shouldn't be the focus of my emotions. I should be inspired by them. If they're all getting back up, I can too. If they can do it without anger, I can too.
Yes, cancer knocks us down. It gets the best of us. By "the best of us" I mean our spirit, our light. But the wonderful thing about humans is that even though that red ball is scary and fast, humans are bigger, better, stronger. We all hope and pray that if that red ball comes towards us, or our families or friends, that it only comes once. But if it happens to come twice, or more than that, let's not be angry at it. It's just a ball. Let's focus on ourselves. Let's dust off our jeans, even if covered in dirt and holes, and get right back up.
I'll turn my anger into energy. Energy to fight on the inside and out. On the outside to heal. I'll take good care of my body so I can recover fast from my next surgery. On the inside to help this cancer find a healthy place in my mind. To use it to become a better person. To use it not to generate anger, but to generate courage and strength for others. To recognize and understand no thing or person "did this" to me or to us. Use this cancer as a chance to do something wonderful.
Another part of my daily challenge to myself is to always, always look at the bigger picture. When I look at my bigger picture I see myself marrying, and spending the rest of my life with the man I was meant to be with. I see myself surrounded by family and friends and the most amazing, loving people in the world. I see myself a little bit better from all of this.
And when I look at the bigger picture, of all those touched by cancer, I see myself holding hands with people all across the world. Like one of those paper cut-outs of people you make in elementary school, that stretches across the cafeteria. Only this time we're not paper. We're people. And we're holding onto the best of us.