apres moi le deluge

It's so easy to forget you had a life-threatening illness once you're better. Yes, I talk about cancer, but I am often detached from the subject. It has become foreign to me again.

I haven't slept a wink for days.

I'd been working on a school project like I always used to do, all night long, when suddenly cancer slapped me upside the face and I realized it's been 5 months since the end of chemo. Five months and I'm relatively normal again. Friends, school, design, work. All of this could come crashing down again any day now. Maybe I am just anxious for my scans this month?

I haven't slept a wink for days.

I've been trying to write about treatment in hopes of some sort of catharsis. It's a memory and a place to which I never want to return. Below is a bit of it. That's what cancer is like. Seriously. Exactly that.

Remember lying amidst the savage darkness, the hollow sound of idleness, waiting to either die or live, but only waiting. Wishing fate had a backbone. The feeling of your body plotting against you, wanting to reach in and exhume your disease, to tear apart tendons and scrape the bone clean. Oh, to be clean. Fevers like little deaths, dying only to be painfully reborn again by sunrise, watching that glowing orange eye rise and wink, upon which you realize the world must be mocking you. You'd rather end than watch the cruel parody of daybreak again. the sky is insufferable.

Unable to walk, unable to get out of bed. Jealous of the dust bunnies and all other moving unknowing things. The minutes build and you bear them on your shoulder like phantom bricks, the heavy load of an empty moment, and then the hours come, inevitable, breaking your back.

remember the retching. A wretched way to live, waves of sickness like the tides coming in, swelling up and foaming at the shore. A tidal heaves up, up, and out, crashing down, we've had an exorcism all over the kitchen floor, hallelujah, praise jesus. I exorcise all day long. they say it's good for the soul. After the floods an eerily satisfying calm settles in, as if the body has made peace with it's own volatility.

remember the killing machine, the feeling of poison pumped through your veins, the sting of the needle as it went through your chest. You could taste the chemo under your tongue. It would not go away. It became part of you and you became it, inhuman. You would sweat inhumanity. Murder poured out of your pores. The paradox of your body wanting to live, violently so, and your only cure is to kill it...

love your suffering

You know quite well, deep within you, that there is only a single magic, a single power, a single salvation... and that is called loving. Well, then, love your suffering. Do not resist it, do not flee from it. It is your aversion that hurts, nothing else.

Thrush before the last chemo and a general malaise. Sometimes my mind forgets that I'm sick, seriously so, and calls my body to action, to the normal life, the life of errands and jobs and making other people happy. My body usually concedes until it has reached its limit, raising the white flag of fever, of aching bones. My body, my body. I must learn to listen to my body before all else.

I think of my last chemo and begin to cry, the weight of the experience is overwhelming. On one hand, I understand that millions have gone through treatment before me, I am not special, this is no big deal. This is life.

On the other, I think about the special hell that I have been banished to within my body for the past six months. The feeling of cellular betrayal, your insides crimping and dying and spasming. The daily heaving, blood coming out of every orifice, heart pounding the rest of your body into submission. The sickly smell of mesna, the many, many sleepless nights thinking about death, wondering how it feels, wondering if it will be in a hospital bed just like the hundreds you've laid in before. Wondering if it will be sooner rather than later. The incredible quiet that envelopes everything when you realize you are alone inside your body, fighting with it, dying with it.

I dare not delve any deeper, I'd rather just forget it all.

ortho surgeon consultation on May 4th. We'll decide if I need to lose a hip in addition to all of this other nonsense.

until then, last week of chemo!

I say sob story, you say get over it.

I was walking around the Tenderloin alone today, running errands, my muscles sore from all of this new activity, when I realized that OH MY GOD, I'm happy. Really really truly happy to have a taste of living once again. To be inspired by the strangers and the grey streets around me. The macaroni and cheese puke I passed by on Hyde didn't even deter my good mood in the slightest (although, why would it, after six months of chemo?).

I was worried that my former mess of a life would continue post-cancer, but that doesn't seem to be the case. I'm consciously trying to make the right decisions and allow positive, constructive people into my world.

I am breaking into sobs as I try and write this, now full blown tears dripping onto the hard-wood floor in a little puddle at my feet. I am finally realizing the scope of what I have just been through. The overwhelming fear and feeling of death, the daily gritting of my teeth as I prepare myself for chemo, needles and blood and puke and endless, indescribable pain. It's not even over yet.

All of this and still the chance to be happy. I can hardly believe it. This is why I'm crying.

You have no idea what you are able to overcome. You cannot fathom how strong you really are.

Trust me.

If anything, I want my story to show you that.