(Not) Being There, not by Jersy Kozinski

Three long time friends stopped by on Friday for a visit. One was visiting from Australia and the others live in town. They brought me the softest pair of PJs that I've ever worn, and some matching booties.

We caught up for awhile and then we talked about the cancer. One friend said she couldn't imagine what I was going through. I told them what I've felt all along: that this is not happening to me. This brought up a discussion about how that could be an automatic response and part of my attempt at self-preservation. I hadn't thought of it that way, but it makes sense. I haven't consciously distanced myself from what I'm going through, and I'm aware when I go through each part, but it doesn't feel as if it's happening to me. It still sounds strange to say "I have cancer." One of my friends likened it to going through a traumatic event like a rape and having an out of body experience and watching yourself go through it, but not feeling as if it were happening to you, which is a survival mechanism. It's easier for me to have a good attitude when I don't feel as if it's happening to me. And I definitely don't feel like a victim.  

I don't know if other cancer patients feel the same way, but I think it's what is helping me get through it. It's surreal on some levels. I can't get my head around it. I have always felt that I would never get cancer, because it wasn't in my family, at least that I knew of. I recently contacted a second cousin on Facebook and asked her about my biological father's side of the family - I was not raised by this father. I had heard rumors that my paternal grandmother died of either lung or colon cancer. The second cousin talked to another cousin in California who gave her this information: my grandmother died of colon cancer, as did two of her sisters. Another sister died of breast cancer and a brother died of lung cancer. I'm lucky I only got one kind of cancer with these genes! And actually, I didn't get any of those cancers, so maybe it was just a fluke. 

I am in week 5 of radiation and have started the second chemo round. Sometime after the treatments end, I will get another scan done to verify that the tumor has disappeared, never to return again. Then in February, my colorectal surgeon will start looking at the possibility of reversing the colostomy which would make me very happy. And if it can't happen then, I'm not giving up hope that it can't happen someday. This shit is taking up too much of my time!