Some things never change

I know that I am one of millions of people who have been indirectly affected by cancer. I am also a cancer survivor, though I consider myself to be one of the very lucky ones. I was diagnosed with stage I cervical cancer while I was pregnant with my third child. I went through a lot of worrying, but my treatment was minimal. Now, I get an exam every six months, and that is about it.

When my Mother talks about her cancer, I try to remember how scared I was following my own diagnosis.  As vastly different as things have turned out for us, I do know that she spends every waking hour trying to prepare herself for the worst case scenario. In my experience, the worst case scenario never played out. For her, every step along the way has confirmed her biggest fears. Her ordeal began almost two years ago, and everyday since that day in April 2006, her life has been about cancer.

I have heard from others how common it is for cancer to take over a person’s life once they receive that fateful diagnosis. I wish that I had realized up front what exactly that would mean. For my family it has meant that cancer is the subject of every conversation that we have with my Mother. Whether she is preparing for a doctor’s visit, has just returned from one, is choosing what to have for dinner or what to wear for the day-it’s all about the cancer. Again, I try to identify with how she feels, I really do. It sucks for her. She has been through seven major surgeries in less than two years, has not been off of chemo for nearly fifteen months, and can hardly walk some days.  I understand all of that. There are still days where I honestly wish she would just shut the hell up about it.

She will ultimately die from her cancer. Her care is mostly palliative, and we knew from the beginning that would be the case. Unfortunately, like so many people I had internalized a Hollywood version of illness and death, which has kept me from experiencing her ordeal with her.  Since her diagnosis, I have been waiting for my Mother to share her wisdom with me in a “Tuesday’s with Morrie” fashion. I realize now though, that she is still the same person that she was before she became ill. Stubborn, self-centered and angry. I know, what shocking things to say about a sick person, right? Would it be shocking if she weren’t ill? As an adult daughter, I can admit now that my relationship with my Mother will never be great. It never has been. We push each other’s buttons like only a Mother and daughter can.

As her daughter though, I am the one most obligated to listen to her endless talk of cancer. My Dad has spent their marriage in typical ’50’s style-ignoring her. My brothers, though they both live closer to her than I do, have followed Dad’s example. They avoid her. I know that they are doing their best to cope with a depressing situation. They absolutely have the right to avoid her when they can’t handle being around her. However, because my parents stay with me and my family when she is receiving treatment, for us it’s all cancer-all the time.

Cancer has taken on this persona for me. The persona of someone who is capable of taking over the world, and destroying everyone in it.  Cancer is Osama Bin Laden. Cancer is all of the bad things that happen in the world, the things that I can’t explain to my children, no matter what words I choose.  Cancer doesn’t make sense and it never will.