Agood blogfriend of mine, Cary Miller, has been relentless in his support for his wife, Lori, as she battles cancer of unknown primary origin. I've been so thankful to have someone to compare notes with as we both deal with the unique issues faced by twenty and thirty-something cancer patients. And now...he's written something that captures the anger that I struggle to keep tamped down every day. Please read the following post, then stop over and offer some support...
The Anger Is Eating Me From The Inside
by Cary Miller
Foul Language Ahead: You’ve Been Warned…
If you’re looking for a happy-go-lucky, “cancer is the greatest thing that ever happened to me” kind of post, you might want to click away from this page before you read any further — I’m feeling neither happy, nor lucky.
Seriously. I hate this fucking disease.
I hate it for destroying what was supposed to be the best time of my life (for those of you who are new to this blog, my wife was diagnosed with stage-IV cancer a scant seven weeks after we were married.)
I hate it for aging me before my time, and for stealing my ability to feel true happiness.
I hate it for tainting every single fucking holiday, weekend, and vacation with a creeping, ugly fear that never goes away, and only occasionally sinks far enough into the background for me to actually relax.
I hate it for both the terrifying psychological pain, and the incredible & relentless physical pain it continues to cause my wife.
I hate it for making me feel that I’m actually somehow “lucky” that the woman I love more than anything in the world is still alive and fighting for her life three years after we were married.
I hate it for the amazing friends it has killed slowly & painfully, and for the devastated family members it leaves behind, not having the decency to just put them out of their misery.
I hate it for tainting my usual optimistic self with an anger that is absolutely eating me from the inside out.
And It’s Making Me Violent
No, I would never hurt a fly… but often I wake up in the middle of the night and feel I have to punch something — as hard and relentless as possible (our new sofa usually ends up on the receiving end of my rage, but sometimes I just walk around the house slamming doors.)
Sometimes… most of the time… the frustration and pain of not being able to protect my beloved from her disease is more than I can possibly bare.
And sometimes… well sometimes I feel like chucking this fucking blog in the trash and walking away. Just walking away and never looking back. That’s why I haven’t been writing much lately.
Sometimes it’s just all too much.
posted by amanda @ 10:38 PM