Below is a NY Times article that hit home. I hope you had a chance to give it even the slightest of glances. The last few weeks I've been back and forth on a topic I've wanted to write about but have been unsure if it's oversharing. I'm great at oversharing, but have been trying to be more aware of how this may make others uncomfortable. Growth? Well, point being, this article has inspired me to go for it. Bear with me. And please, please know that I'm okay and this is not a call for help, but rather understanding.
Setting: Tuesday evening. Tyler has just arrived and is trying to get me to eat dinner. He's even bought the fixings for french toast, which is my go-to meal when I'm nauseous and/or have no appetite. "I don't want any," I lie. He makes it anyway and leaves it on the counter. I'm being a difficult shit. There's something on my mind, but I have no idea how to bring it up. I lay in bed, staring out the window, while he watches TV in the adjoining room. Come on. Pry this out of me. How can I make it more obvious that something's on my mind? Truth is, he does ask a few times if I'm okay or something's on my mind. I'm fine. Okay, we're all familiar with this song and dance. In true form, I wait until he's exhausted and trying to sleep before dumping a pile of emotional crap on the poor guy. And the spewing and the crying just doesn't stop.
I'm constantly surrounded by people that care about me and are trying to be supportive in the best ways they all know how. But...
I feel so alone.
"You're going to be fine." People cannot interrupt me fast enough when I attempt to express a concern about my future... or lack there of. "Everything will be okay."
You do not know that.
The doctors do not know that.
Most importantly, I do not know that.
Stop saying that.
Naturally ... of course ... duh ... when you're told you have cancer, the first thing you think and the first thing I said was, "Am I going to die?" When those around you first find out, it's obvious this is their first fear as well. Then it started with the "everything's going to be okays" and it hasn't stopped. Honestly, are you saying that for my sake or for yours? Is there just not room in your reality for the possibility that I'm not going to be okay? Because when you say that, you're taking from mine. My reality is that there's a chance I'm not. A one-in-four chance according to my oncologist. Genetics determined I had a 1-3% chance of getting breast cancer, and I managed to acquire that. Now I have a 25% chance of not living 5 more years.
According to www.cancer.org, in 2009, over 40,000 women died from breast cancer. I would imagine those numbers have not declined in the last two years. Furthermore, above I mentioned the odds my oncologist shared, but the average statistics I've researched for Stage 3A usually estimate anywhere from 45-60%.
I need to realize, comprehend, soul search, embrace this possibility. That is what is healthy for me. Dismissing it, pretending it's not real, not answering that wake up call, is not. Sure, it's sad and scary, but it's equally inspiring. I watched my cousin die from sarcoma. A friend's mom did die from breast cancer. People die from this everyday. Each of them with parents, friends, and coworkers. You cannot protect or cure me. You can listen to my bucket list and advocate for me to accomplish them.
Commonly, the next thing people say involve, "Well, any of us could be hit by a bus at anytime." Yeah, but are you living your life as if that's true? Who knows what the average survival rates for just being a person in our society today are. Not all of us are cornered into facing our own mortality.
While all of this poured out of my mouth, tears turned into sobs. Please be in the moment with me, I begged him. I need to know you've accepted this possibility and still choose to be here with me today. No long-term commitment necessary, just make the choice each day as it comes.
I do not need to be consoled or dismissed or patronized. I need room to be devastated and excited. I need to be supported and encouraged to live. We should all be doing this for each other. We should all be living like we might not live 5 more years.
Setting: Tuesday evening. Tyler has just arrived and is trying to get me to eat dinner. He's even bought the fixings for french toast, which is my go-to meal when I'm nauseous and/or have no appetite. "I don't want any," I lie. He makes it anyway and leaves it on the counter. I'm being a difficult shit. There's something on my mind, but I have no idea how to bring it up. I lay in bed, staring out the window, while he watches TV in the adjoining room. Come on. Pry this out of me. How can I make it more obvious that something's on my mind? Truth is, he does ask a few times if I'm okay or something's on my mind. I'm fine. Okay, we're all familiar with this song and dance. In true form, I wait until he's exhausted and trying to sleep before dumping a pile of emotional crap on the poor guy. And the spewing and the crying just doesn't stop.
I'm constantly surrounded by people that care about me and are trying to be supportive in the best ways they all know how. But...
I feel so alone.
"You're going to be fine." People cannot interrupt me fast enough when I attempt to express a concern about my future... or lack there of. "Everything will be okay."
You do not know that.
The doctors do not know that.
Most importantly, I do not know that.
Stop saying that.
Naturally ... of course ... duh ... when you're told you have cancer, the first thing you think and the first thing I said was, "Am I going to die?" When those around you first find out, it's obvious this is their first fear as well. Then it started with the "everything's going to be okays" and it hasn't stopped. Honestly, are you saying that for my sake or for yours? Is there just not room in your reality for the possibility that I'm not going to be okay? Because when you say that, you're taking from mine. My reality is that there's a chance I'm not. A one-in-four chance according to my oncologist. Genetics determined I had a 1-3% chance of getting breast cancer, and I managed to acquire that. Now I have a 25% chance of not living 5 more years.
According to www.cancer.org, in 2009, over 40,000 women died from breast cancer. I would imagine those numbers have not declined in the last two years. Furthermore, above I mentioned the odds my oncologist shared, but the average statistics I've researched for Stage 3A usually estimate anywhere from 45-60%.
I need to realize, comprehend, soul search, embrace this possibility. That is what is healthy for me. Dismissing it, pretending it's not real, not answering that wake up call, is not. Sure, it's sad and scary, but it's equally inspiring. I watched my cousin die from sarcoma. A friend's mom did die from breast cancer. People die from this everyday. Each of them with parents, friends, and coworkers. You cannot protect or cure me. You can listen to my bucket list and advocate for me to accomplish them.
Commonly, the next thing people say involve, "Well, any of us could be hit by a bus at anytime." Yeah, but are you living your life as if that's true? Who knows what the average survival rates for just being a person in our society today are. Not all of us are cornered into facing our own mortality.
While all of this poured out of my mouth, tears turned into sobs. Please be in the moment with me, I begged him. I need to know you've accepted this possibility and still choose to be here with me today. No long-term commitment necessary, just make the choice each day as it comes.
I do not need to be consoled or dismissed or patronized. I need room to be devastated and excited. I need to be supported and encouraged to live. We should all be doing this for each other. We should all be living like we might not live 5 more years.
Dear L, I don't know you, but have been following your blog for several months. This posting really touched me. I had read the article from the NY Times and appreciated the reminders of what to say/not to say to someone dealing with cancer (or other problems).
ReplyDeleteYou are incredibly courageous and I love your candid writing.
I hope you can feel the many who are out here in the universe, pulling for you and wishing you well. In the meantime, know that you are helping us become better friends and family members by teaching us how to help our loved ones cope with their own health struggles.
I can't even begin to tell you how much this post touches me in so many ways. I don't think you even realize that you are an inspiration and an example to others in so many different situations. It would do us all some good to bottle a little of that "Lindsay Bozanich Magic" that you carry inside of you everyday. I feel blessed to know you. Thank you for the article you posted earlier. I feel quite guilty of falling back on many of the trite and useless cliches we often use and appreciate the reminder, especially today. Sometimes you just always know what to say and how to articulate it in a way I think many of us are unable to. Keep being you lady and keeping your chin up. I know you will continue to surround the loved ones around you with that special "Magic" and light you have always had and that we are so lucky to experience in your presence.
ReplyDeleteAs someone who has lost a dear family member to cancer, I know what you mean. There is no "known" out there about what will happen, how things will turn out. What I DO know about you is that you are a strong and brilliant individual. You have a knack for taking the worst of life's circumstances and putting a silver lining on them, a twist of humor, or even just a go-with-it attitude that is awe-inspiring.
ReplyDeleteYour candor and honesty is eye-opening, and I HOPE that everything will be okay. However, even if it isn't you have touched lives and have helped those around you see the world in a different way. You have made sure that they will be okay, no matter what.
Live each day like it's your first, full of wonder and excitement. Live in the moment. And accomplish all that you can. Whether cancer wins this fight, or you live to see a very very old age, I KNOW that you will live each and every moment of it with appreciation and filled with people that truly care about you.
Keep up the fight... I'm rooting for you.