My Head's in the Clouds

I think I will always be in denial.

Cancer sucks, so sometimes I opt for denial. I don't even know that it is a conscious decision.

I just pulled an over-nighter for my second thyroid cancer removal surgery. I feel like a truck hit me. I have quite the scar lining my neck now to prove it. The verdict? This will probably go on forever. The doctor's report was that he found a few more lymph nodes in surgery so he took those out as he went. Kind of like playing Asteroids. Pew, pew pew. Got one. Pew pew pew, there's another! He said there is a good probability he got it all. He also said there is a good probability there is more cancer. How 'bout them odds?

I shared a recovery room with another equally sedated person across a partition that I never really saw until she left. The whole time I pictured an old lady recovering from gall bladder surgery or something. Hello, Amanda. You are at the James Cancer Hospital. No gall bladders here. Unless they are full of cancer.

I was naively shocked when I met a tiny, young mother on the other side of the room. She didn't have any hair. Her husband came in to help her with her drains and passed out. I heard all of this from my side of the room. He hit the floor and I realized how far reaching this stuff really is.

I could barely move from all the sedation, but after sleeping it off for nearly 24 hours, I hopped (well, maybe slithered) out of bed and blearily walked the halls for a bit to see it for myself.

I am in a cancer hospital. Everyone here is fighting. For survival. To be a mom. To be a husband. To be alive. Some win, some may not, but we all suffer.

I shuffled through the halls, very aware of the new scar across my neck and the looks I will probably get from now on. What happened to you? Are you ok? Maybe a touch of what that sweet young mother gets when she takes off her hat.

I feel like we are a giant social experiment. We are infected with cancer and all we can do is cut it out or chase it out with more sickness. Or die. How 'bout them odds?

I don't mean to be so sobering here, but I continue to be shocked at this little piece of the cancer world that I reside in. It is full of pain, both physical and emotional. It might, however be full of life if we choose to look there. It's hard to see in the dark crevasses of this cancer fight, but it's there. The mom who put on her hat and smiled at me as she left. Wishing me luck. The niece with Leukemia I once had, but will forever reside only in my heart now. The smiles of the kids on the cancer ward who indulge in laughter and find life despite the pain.

I am not sure where I fit into all this. I just know I need some Ibuprofin right now. They told me long ago this was the "best" cancer to have, and maybe it is. At this point I don't have to go through chemo or radiation therapy, but the cancer has never gone away. Despite my best efforts, it's been probably close to 8 years now, 4 of them in treatments and 4 in monitoring and testing.

This sucks but I am trying to find the silver lining. Some days it's shinier than others, but we'll keep at it. I replayed this song tonight that I love, thinking of the boy who wrote it and passed away not long ago from Osteosarcoma. Beautiful. Up in the clouds. Maybe with my niece. I bet their view is a little nicer. Just as he says.

Here's the link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zxXAtmmLLc