On Cancer

I had a much different post ready for today.  A lighthearted post about shopping for a new baby since I did that this past weekend. 

But, in an effort to be truthful to myself and to those who stop to read, I have cancer on my mind.

A friend of a friend who I don't really know that well was diagnosed. 

Stage IV. 

She is my age. 42. 42!

I still feel 27. And she? She has stage.four.cancer.

I find it unfair.

Scary.

Sad.

It is unfathomable. Unbelievable. I don't want to hear anymore.

I can't stop reading. 

I wake up thinking about her. 

I don't really know her that well.

I look at every.single.one of her face book pictures.

I do. 

I am not sure why.

One of my closest and dearest friends fathers.

Lung cancer.

He is 67.

It is found quite early. This is good.

They operate and remove 3 lobes on one lung.

They get all of the cancer.

And then, some time later, he starts to feel not so well.

The family actually thinks he might have had a stroke.

When in fact, it a brain tumor.

This cancer is like a monster. It hides and then when you least expect it, it pops up somewhere else. 

I envision it in his body. It travelling. 

What it looks like. 

I think that if I had cancer, I would want to see it once it is removed.

I think that's weird.

I receive a message letting me know that her appendix has ruptured.

It is likely caused by the cancer.

They are not sure what to do because of the cancer that surrounds the organ.

I am told they will wait for the oncologists to potentially operate.

I woke up yesterday morning thinking of her.

I picture the smiling face I saw on face book. And I have an overwhelming feeling that I am going to turn on my phone and get bad news.

I do not.

Instead, I find out shortly afterwards that she is in surgery.

Hopeful.

I also find out that what was originally thought to be stage IV ovarian cancer actually started in the colon.

I wonder if that is better. Or worse.

Or either.

At times like this, I think google can be your friend. Or your very worse enemy.

He had surgery last week.

My friend is so strong, she does not cry when she speaks to me.

But I can sense that she is not herself.

Monotone. 

I think about my own father and want to cry.

The surgery goes well. He speaks. He moves his arms. He is hungry.

She tells me it does not look pretty. 

I didn't imagine that it would. 

But for now, he is cancer-free. 

And she is cooking. And he is eating.

He will go home soon. 

And then, he will begin radiation since brain tumors do not respond to chemotherapy.

I never knew that.

I have been learning a lot of things about cancer that I never knew before.

The surgery is a success.

They have removed her ovaries. Her uterus.

The appendix.

We are not sure about the rest of the tumors that plague her still-young body.

We text and google. Google and text.

We text about what she should be eating.

What she should be drinking.
I wonder about everything I've eaten and drank. 

Her family has driven across country to be with her and I find an odd peace in knowing her mama is with her.

I don't know her very well but I know she is well-loved.

I also learn she is the baby of the family and that makes me sad. 

Further testing has discovered that the cancer has metastasized. I had wondered how it got from the lungs to the brain. I did.

They fear it may be in the lymph nodes.

Which would mean chemotherapy alongside the radiation.
Where does it end? How much more bad news?

I wonder what I would do.

If it were my dad. 

If it were me.

I hate cancer. 

I am dedicating this post to a man who could be my father and a woman who could be me.