It seems to me there are two types of cancer portrayed by the media. One is where someone gets cancer and dies, cue sad faces and hand wringing about the children. The other is where someone gets cancer and recovers, cue living your best life, #MakingMemories.
I don’t fit either of these categories. I won’t ever be cured of cancer. While I’m living with cancer I won’t know how long I’ve got until I’m dying of it. And there’s another paradox. Sometimes I like having cancer!
There are of course many things I hate about having cancer. Constant questions about how you are or being told how well you look. Being asked about the worst aspects of your daily life while you serve lunch to your children. Wondering how old your daughters will be when you die.
And yet. Sometimes I love the attention. Having an excuse for my bad mood. Hospitals are familiar to me; I know what I’m doing when I’m ill. Being well is more scary. I feel loved and can choose to exceed or match others’ low expectations. It makes being disabled easier to cope with! And of course, it’s given me my poetry.
These Boobs Were Made For Talking 