Dear Cancer…A letter about how I really feel

I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings. I generally like to find the good in things. Don’t get me wrong. Situations can get me frustrated. But I can usually get past it after a few days and see things in a better light.

I have been able to do that for years with cancer. I have written about how cancer has given me hope and how I don’t let it tell me what I can and can’t do. But the reality is, cancer has taken a toll on me mentally and physically over the years. And it really pisses me off sometimes. So here is my Dear Cancer letter…

Dear Cancer: It’s not you, it’s me. 

Wait, that is so NOT TRUE – it very much is you and I’m tired of being nice to you. If you could just leave now and never come back it would not be too soon. 

In 2003, without any warning, you came into our home and disrupted our life. You were an unwelcome guest that barged in and made yourself at home. When you finally announced yourself on October 8th after a surgery to remove what we believed was a just a non-cancerous fibroadenoma, I was in shock. By the end of the month, I had 2 more surgeries and met the doctor who would be my oncologist. Less than one month from your intrusion, I began chemotherapy. It was all very fast and very surreal.

In the summer of 2004, after 8 rounds of chemo and I can’t even remember how many rounds of radiation, we packed your bags and kicked you out of our house. You had already overstayed your welcome and it was time for you to move out. I hated you then, and I still hate you. You took away my kid’s childhood by just being in our lives and for that, I will never forgive you.

We thought we had dealt with you and kicked you out to the curb, but unknown to us at the time, you had left a small unpacked bag behind for us to discover at a later date. 

When you interrupted our life in 2003, it felt like just a bad dream. For 10 months, we let you run our life. You told us when we had to be somewhere, you took my energy and my hair. But what you didn’t take was my spirit, as much as you tried. We had friends and family help with meals and house cleaning and other odd jobs that popped up. My husband took up a lot of the slack and didn’t even really complain. 

We fought with you on our terms and thought we had put you in our rearview mirror. That is until October 8, 2010. After months of pain in my back and hip, you once again came storming back into our home – that small bag that you left behind had turned into a huge duffel bag (kind of like those sea monkeys that you “just add water” and they grow). 

As you came in and unpacked the huge duffel bag, we discovered that you were there to stay this time. An uninvited guest that was now living in the house and had no intention of ever moving out. You had changed your name from breast cancer to Metastatic Breast Cancer. It was like you wanted to make sure you were in control again. Discovering the pain in my back and my hip was actually due to breast cancer metastasizing in my bones, we now understood that you were here to stay and there was nothing we could do to kick you out.

Through the pain and the uncertainty that you brought I really hated you. Not only had you disrupted our life in 2003, but now you had taken my ability to walk. When we saw the scans and the xrays that showed how much of my left hip anatomy was now gone, it was no wonder that my pain level had soared to a 12 on a scale of 1 to 10. 

You moved in and still wanted to run our life. Frankly cancer, your gift-giving abilities SUCK!

Surgeries, chemo, radiation, more radiation, another surgery, more chemo and drugs, another surgery, recovery and learning how to walk with a rebuilt hip, And you just kept giving.

After the surgeries, you decided it wasn’t enough and you had to move to my ribs which meant more chemo and drugs to try to keep you in your place.
My oncologist, through some trial and error, finally found the drug that managed to keep you under control. The chemo finally turned the water off that was making the monkeys continue to grow and we finally learned how to keep you in your place.

For 7 glorious years, we were able to tame you – to the point where I sometimes wondered if you really had decided to move on. I still had doctor appointments every 6 weeks to remind me, a daily pill to keep the faucet turned off, and scans every 4-5 months in which your distant relative anxiety would show up and we would all hold our collective breath until the results would come back with the words STABLE. 

But controlling my body and my life wasn’t enough for you. Maybe you thought I wasn’t paying you enough attention, but for whatever reason, in 2015, you opened the door for your cousin renal cancer and introduced your cousin to my husband. At this point, I had made my peace with you and had learned to accept your constant presence in my life. But DAMN you for thinking that was not enough. 

Kim and J.R. December 2015

Your cousin was not as well behaved as you and after 10 months, you brought your second cousin Grief. Why? I have no idea. I thought we had an understanding, you had taken up residence within my body, but if I thought I hated you before, I discovered a new level of hatred. Taking my husband and the father of my children was a new low that frankly I never saw coming. 

My girls have had to live with you since they were 8 and 5. They grew up with you as part of their life and they too had learned to accept that you were the distant relative that you had to put up with. 

I feel as if you have just piled on one thing after another and I’m F#@*$%G tired of it. Breast Cancer, Metastatic Breast Cancer, Renal Cancer, Grief. You can all just go take a leap and leave me the hell alone for a while. I’m so tired of you and your dirty relatives.

As if all of that wasn’t enough, you finally found a new way to turn the water back on. And this summer you decided my body was your playground again. Now we are back checking the arsenal to find something that will slow down the leak that you have created. I am not willing to put my life in your control again. I have every intention of fighting you and sticking around to watch my daughters as they embark on the life that you have tried to steal from them not once, not twice but 3 times.

I want you to know that you have just begun to see me fight. And although I know one day you will have the final say, until that day, I will fight you till hell freezes over and then fight you on the ice (#GoFrogs).

5 Comments

  1. Wendy Woodland

    12/13/2019 at 3:58 PM

    Kim – from someone who was a member of our previous writers group I declare that piece of prose AWESOME. Is there not a cancer society publication that you could send that to? ( Ahem….. to whom it could be sent? ) Beautifully expressed, beautifully and creatively written and I love the fight!
    I hope to see you around church soon.
    Wendy

    • Kim

      12/13/2019 at 4:09 PM

      Thank you Wendy. I’m so glad that we had that writers group – It sure helped give me a lot more confidence to expand my writing. And thank you for all of your support

  2. Hi Kim, My husband has brain cancer, so I’m right there with you. Hating the cancer and abiding in Christ and looking for God’s promises because He is faithful.

    • Kim

      02/15/2020 at 8:28 PM

      I’m sorry you are going through this too. I wrote this after a session with my therapist – she wanted to know what I would say. God has been good and I am very blessed with the people in my life.

      • Hi Kim, I agree the Lord has been with us every step of the way too! And am thankful too for the spiritual growth that has resulted through this process as well as all our support people!

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