The thing about cancer is that nobody is ever prepared to hear the diagnosis.
As far as I know, nobody responds, after waiting on the cold hard chairs in an oncologist’s office, or on the paper-covered exam table, rustling as they shift their weight, exactly the way they wish they had. No one says, “Oh, fantastic! I was hoping that my work would be interrupted with a few rounds of chemo!” Or, “Oh, invasive ductal carcinoma? Great! I can squeeze the surgery in between the preschool benefit and the kids’ soccer tournement.” Or, “Six months of chemo, double mastetomy, bilateral oopherectomy, and 7 weeks of radiation? Awesome! I wasn’t really looking forward to BlogHer, swimming lessons and preschool for the kids, and catching up on my sleep.”
instead, we gasp, we sigh, we crumple into the arms of the one we love.
and then, we lft our eyes and ask, “How do we fight?”
The other thing about cancer is that nobody is ever prepared to make the decision about treatment. If it’s anything but clear-cut, we stand, looking out into the void of options, teetering on the precipice of treatment,
and we gulp, feeling woefully unprepared to know how to fight the cancer.