If you are looking for the hearth-warming, up-lifting cancer blog, move along, this is not it. I sat on this post in my head for a full 48 hours, thinking I might feel differently, but i don’t. I am bitter, angry, mad and just not nice right now….
Here is the thing: the next person that tells me I am the strongest person they have ever met and I can get through this OR that kids are resilient … well, you are warned: I may punch you in the face. (or kick you in the groin. I I have been working out, I can kick pretty hard)
I’m sorry, but I still have not regained my strength following the friggin double-lung transplant my husband had. And my kids, somewhere between losing their birth-mother, being adopted, loosing an uncle, their beloved grand-mother and a dear family friend (a month after his baby was born) and THEN that little double lung transplant…. well, they ran out of resilience.
So when you tell me that your neighbour’s hairdresser’s dog groomer got breast cancer and she is doing great, or that your kids rebounded totally after Beatrice the Shih-tzu died, well, I appreciate the sentiment, but come on!
Is this hard to hear? Don’t know what to say when you do see me? How about just a hug. Or just ‘wow, I just don’t even know what to say’. Shocked? Really? Because I am not the prom-queen. I am not the vanilla-flavoured typical mom in yoga pants. I’m the girl who got the mega-tattoo, who composted before that was a thing and who made boot-socks BEFORE they were on Pinterest… yeah, I know, I am the freaking hipster of breast cancer. Deal with it.