...Lace Up Your Gloves...

I guess I forget sometimes what exactly I'm living with. I mean, there's not more than a few minutes that goes by that I forget, but on a day-to-day, hour-to-hour basis, I sometimes do. I don't *feel* like a cancer patient. I don't *feel* like someone who has gotten some kind of doom and gloom diagnosis. Mainly? I don't feel like anyone in the world has the right to say that I fit into any type of statistic or give me any type of prognosis as to how long this life of mine is going to last. Of course I know that statistics are based on a sampling of people that fall into a certain test study group. I also am well aware of the fact that aspects of my life put me into certain groups that studies have been done on. I'm intelligent, I'm educated, and I've been through this. What I think people don't realize at times is that medicine and technology are a dynamic, living, breathing, growing transformation. That two years can get me 10. That in 10 years, there may be a cure. That 10 years can turn into the 50 I'm looking for. Until then? There's not a chance in hell that I'm going to let someone tell me where I *won't* be, or where I *can't* be, or for that matter, what I *can't* do.

You want know what I can't do, according to what I "should" be doing? I can't hike 22 miles two days after a chemo treatment. I can't handle elevation without getting nauseous. I can't run 5 miles every other day. I can't possibly go to work as usual and keep up the same pace. Oh wait. Most people without cancer can't do that either. But wait...EFF-that. I just did.

One of the first times we were in the oncologist's office this time around, we read an article about the differences between early stage cancer and metastatic cancer patients, and how so many times, there is an enormous rift. Whether it's the fact that the metastatic patients represent the worst fears of the early stage "cured" patients, or that the early stage patients seemingly have it so much easier than the patients who are dealing with mets and multiple rounds of chemo, coupled with the fact that whether people are patients or not, cancer is scary as hell for everyone. I never realized there was such a divide.

The strange thing is, I see it even around me. Some friends are convinced that I beat this once, no problem. Pardon the interruption, I'll beat this again. Others are trying to wrap their thoughts around the fact that they think I now have a measurable timeline here in this world. Cancer is such a personal thing, and I find it fascinating that one person's story can range from incredibly inspiring and uplifing to unbearably painful to follow. Same person. Same story. Different perspectives digesting the same information.

I'm grateful for the ones that believe in me and know that I can beat this. The ones that see me as inspiring, rather than terrifying, because that's how I feel. I wish I could alleviate the fears of others, and perhaps this is my time to shine, to do some good to someone else. I can't really account for the ones that are scared of me, or of what I am going through, because cancer is a highly personal experience whether you are living with it, or just exposed to the reality that it exists. I suppose I just need to let people digest the information they have and the opinions they formulate about my condition or prognosis thereof on their own.

Me? Perhaps I'm the eternal optimist. Perhaps I know that there's a bigger plan for me than cutting this time short. Perhaps I know that if I spent precious time on the 'what if' I'd miss the now, because cancer or no cancer, there's not a single one of us that knows what the next day will bring.

Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.