#cuntcer

Cuntcer: 21 June to 22 July

I heard a statistic somewhere that said 3 out of every 5 people would experience a form of cancer in their lifetime. Three out of five!? Through the duration of my life, I don’t understand why we as a society have not come up with some solution for cancer. While I'm certain, it is because of some conspiracy associated financial gain for medical institutions, this digresses from what I wanted to write about. 

Moving on.

This summer two people I adore received cancer diagnoses. One has already started the process of chemotherapy and has lost her hair. Hair that her doctors told her she wouldn’t lose. Seeing her sparkly baseball cap covering what was once her head full of curly blonde hair made me sad. Then she opened her mouth and cracked a joke about how she wasn’t going to have me shave what was left of her hair off crying (she knows me too well) so she did it herself. Alone. In her home after her husband left for work. At least she has kept her sense of humor through this experience and has dubbed her illness as “cunt-cer”. I know it is a crass word to use, but she feels that describing it as such best describes how she is feeling. 

The other friend only recently discovered his illness and is starting chemotherapy in a few weeks. He moved to the east coast last year to start his life anew. HIs prognosis has not been the greatest, and when I received this news, I found myself weeping in a most uncontrollable way. I couldn’t stop the wetness on my face. I have been following him on his journey trying to be a positive voice. Attempting to be supportive, but I realized something through this process. 

This isn’t about me. As a friend, you can be supportive to your friend(s) during their most difficult of times. However, each experience is unique to them. This thought in mind I’ve begun to try not to become emotional. It’s hard, and there are times that I know it is okay to cry. It’s also okay to share the excitement in the small hurdles that each is overcoming. As for my friends, I believe that they both know how much I love them. This battle is theirs to fight. I am merely a cheerleader on the sidelines. Some days I wish I had a magic wand to make the problems go away. To make them forget about the ongoing battles in their bodies. 

We each control our destinies. Some people are more open about their experiences while others would rather those experiences remain private. This does not mean they are less valuable than the other. We live, we grow up, and we all eventually die. In the words of my dear friend, “I don’t want people crying over me. I want them to remember the good stuff. This is my life and my death.”