fuckcancer – Bikes Kill Cancer

Today was the one year anniversary of the Head & Neck Cancer Support Group I participate in every month. It’s strange how I respond to this group. They keep the insanity in my brain sane.

Most everyday I think about cancer. My cancer in particular. Almost two years post treatment, several all’s clear PET scan later and I still think about it.

I think about it when I’m massaging and stretching my scar that run along the right side of my neck or when I go to shave and realize there’s no facial hair along my right jawline for me to even shave.

I curse it when I wake in the middle of the night to search for a lozenge. My mouth sand paper dry due to underperforming salivary glands.

“What if Lance the Lump comes back and invites his friends, too?”

I am just tired of thinking about it. I am over cancer interrupting my thoughts and daily routine.

I’m so done with thinking about cancer that I haven’t written in this blog in months because the idea of writing about cancer just leaves me tired.

The monthly H&NC Support group is different. All we talk about is cancer. The long term side effects of our treatments. The trouble we have swallowing. We share tips on good dental hygiene to keep our teeth healthy after weeks of radiation treatment. Cancer. cancer. cancer and more cancer.

Oddly enough I don’t mind talking and thinking about cancer with this group. Misery loves company or maybe “a little perspective, like a little humor, goes a long way.”

Fuck this Pity Party

Somedays I resent being a #cancersurvivor, a #cancerthriver, and #cancerwarrior.

The suggestion that I did something extraordinary rubs me the wrong way. Despite what the media, Instagram and the American Cancer Society want you to believe I am no different than anyone else trying to get by in this world.

I’m not above using cancer hashtags to promote my Instagram account and I see the hypocrisy in my anger, but I’m still pissed.

I did not draw my trusty sword or put on combat gear to fight cancer. I did nothing more than what anyone of you would do when sick. I listened to my doctors, took my medicine and got plenty of rest. Cancer is like having the flu but instead of chicken noodle soup, it’s lots of radiation and the hope you can actually keep the soup down.

I got lucky.

I got lucky that my cancer was discovered early in Stage II. I got lucky that the treatment methods for head and neck cancer has advanced by leaps in bounds over the last ten years.

I was fortunate that I had a job that afford me health insurance and the time off to seek treatment and concentrate on my health and recovery.

Why resent such a noble titles as survivor, thriver and warrior?

Because when you attach cancer to the front of each it evokes pity and sadness from your audience.

I don’t need your pity. I need you to get angry, scared and ask what can I do so I and my loved ones don’t get cancer.

I need you to be the warrior.

I need you to stand up and say this is enough.

I need you to make sure your loved ones get their HPV vaccines.

I need you to stop smoking.

I need you to exercise more and eat more fresh fruits and vegetables and cut down on that crap that is passed to you through your car window that you’ve been led to believe constitutes a meal.

I need you to wake the fuck up.

I need you to turn out the lights as you leave the pity part and make sure the door doesn’t hit you in the ass on the way out.

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