"Cancer is cancer."

I believe I have heard a few wise people say it, but the first one was a man who I greatly admire, and who went through his own... fight?  Battle?  So aggressive.  His own experience with cancer.

He was the first person I talked to that could give me any idea of how things would go down.  And damn if he wasn't right about cancer being cancer.

I sure might have been lucky that this cancer wasn't all over my body, and that I had no outward symptoms, but its a dangerous game quantifying and comparing myself to others, because, in the end, cancer is cancer.  And it fucking sucks.

Thyroid cancer is a slow growing cancer, which, in one way, is great, because if one catches it early, it can be taken care of.  In another way, it means at least ten years of close monitoring to make sure it doesn't come back.

How is this monitored?  By an endocrinologist, checking to see if there is any elevation of chemical that only thyroid cells can make.  In simpler terms, the best way to keep my thyroid cancer from coming back is to eradicate any chance of thyroid tissue (healthy or not) ever growing in my body again.

Of course, I haven't had much luck with endocrinologists.  I was only told by me second one in August that, according to the recent testing, i am relatively cancer free, and not needing another radiation treatment.

That is the good part.  The bad part is that I still feel awful, and the last time I called, the only thing I received from them was a bill.  Sent the day after I contacted them and left a message.

It's tricky, being unwell for this long.  And being unwell in a way that isn't as dramatic looking as the cancer patient image seen on movies and TV.  People tell me I look good.  Which is the opposite of what I feel.  I started by getting defensive.  By getting angry.  I have spent too much of my life perfecting the practice of looking OK, just fine, terrific when I'm not.  So, when I feel awful, and people tell me I look good, I feel like they don't care.

Probably quite untrue.  But fuck it.  I'm difficult right now.

This man told me that people are going to say things so that they don't have to feel bad.  And I've done it myself.  Trying to put a positive spin, think positive, fake it 'til you make it, things'll come around, you'll see, stop being such a baby, buck up, you're just loving this aren't you, being the center of attention, the poor little sick boy, just stop this bullshit and get on with your life.  you know you're OK, so JUST STOP FAKING IT!!!

I'm not fine.  I'm not OK.  I'm not faking it.

I've been unwell for too long, so things tend to normalize.  And i forget to conserve my energy.  And I forget to be defensive, to give myself space.  And I begin to doubt myself.  To doubt I'm that unwell.  So I start pushing.  And I push too hard.  And I collapse.

This process was very obvious when I was still cashiering, which I did all through the treatment until August, when I moved to a different department.  I am an introvert to begin with, so it took a lot of energy to be the final impression of the friendliest store in town, the message stitched in bright yellow on our aprons.  Add to that the constant forced question by hundreds of customers "How are you?"

And they don't want to know any real answer.  They just want to cover the uncomfortable moments spent waiting so close to another human being while their groceries are bagged and they pay for them.

Yes, they weren't all like that.  Fuck if I know why I told any of them, because not one took it in any real way.  Most found it as an avenue to talk about themselves(insert hypocritical alarm going off here). 

So many people tried to help.  And so many people did help.  Help more than I imagined.  And I have my thank you cards here.  And a building stack of papers where I try to write and write and write ways to express gratitude.  But whenever I start, other things start automatically adding themselves to the note.  things like hope and when I get better and other positive affirmations that I don't feel.  So, i stop, angry, because I'm being fake.  I'm not well.  And that's what I want to write.  But then, other things start adding, like all the bullshit I've been through recently, like how I lost my wallet two days ago- at my therapists office, and another Endocrinologist who seemed perfect is notacceptingpatientsatthistime, and the healing retreat that I somehow was able to get the clouds parted enough to plan and make a reality is tripping it over itself and falling apart, and I'm going to have to cancel it, and...

Page after page after page.  What to write?  What to say?

You know who is the most fucking brave person in my eyes?  Merritt Wever.

Here is her Emmy awards acceptance speech, in it's entirety:

"Thank you so much! 
Thank you so much...
Um...
I've gotta go."