Cancer, Tattoos, and Tan

Radiation has started. I go, every day, and let this Star Wars-powered machine rotate around me while I occasionally hold my breath and let it click away. I can’t help but watch the little moving metal parts as it zooms into some chasm deep within my body. I wonder, what is it doing, exactly? Just how “zapped” am I? But, I’m still thankful. I asked my radiologist if someone had to get radiation twice, do they have to have more tattoos? I have three dots. Honestly not my best tattoos… These dots line me up just right so the machine can perfectly place a dose of radiation in the right place. I get undressed with the same ladies in the waiting room every day. We greet each other, each of us on the same path. A member of some exclusive club none of us every planned on being a part of. Someone incredibly nice and welcoming brings me back – I undress, lay on the hard, flat surface, and struggle to get over this unreasonably difficult, 2-inch speed bump they have set up so I guess you don’t slide down… I put my hands above my head, turn my head to the right, let them shift me around, hold my breath when they tell me to. BUZZ, BUZZ, and then, I’m done. “See you tomorrow!” A nod and smile to the other ladies in my club. And, I’m headed home. I’m a little pink, but I’m sure it’ll brighten up nicely. I hear I’m getting a long-term tan when this is over. My radiologist says I’ll become an expert.

Cancer has changed me. I will never be the same again. It has made me more aware of myself. Of others. It has brought pain, but it also has brought healing. It has brought me closer to God. It has given some people an excuse to talk to me again. It’s also made me look at things very differently. I spoke to a lady in the waiting room yesterday- this is her third time to have cancer. Those things just make me cringe. She told me cancer is always in your back pocket – we live with it for the rest of our lives. But, I’m determined to keep my head up. I’m determined to look it in the face, no matter what.

Texas Oncology is one of the most wonderful places for me. It’s like my second home. I have had to do this particular journey by myself, being dropped off everywhere I go. The first time I walked in there, I was reeling with consternation as to why I was even in there. I only looked around and saw sick people. It seemed everyone was in some stage of decay. But, after a while, I started to belong there. Everyone greeted me by name, every time I was there. I was scared and uncomfortable, yet handled with great gentleness and care. Now, I go in there, sporting a super short, buzz hair-do, and feel like I belong. We all belong there, in any state we are in. I look around now, and I see bravery. We all greet each other and smile, knowing that each of us is in a battle for our lives. I don’t get stared at in there – some boobless, bald lady. It totally fits in there. Outside of Texas Oncology, people stare sometimes. They don’t stare as much now that I have a little hair and can actually stand up straight. When they stare, I just want to look at them and say, “What? I have cancer.” Boy, that would make them fall all over themselves with embarrassment.

The ladies and I were talking in the waiting room yesterday. They’re having trouble with their families. I told them, “Don’t you wish cancer awarded you with at least some bubble of no outside stress?” We all heartedly agreed. But, it doesn’t. Money is still an issue. Drama still swirls around in various pockets of your life. People say, “Oh, you don’t need that right now!” Well, I have it, needed or not. Life continues on, with its messiness. With its misunderstandings. With its peace-making.

Peace-making is so hard, when people just won’t accept it. That breaks my heart. My heart swells with sadness. Most of all, it makes me so very weary. I admit, I’ve made many mistakes in my life. And, I’m sure I’m not done making them. But, I hope and pray my arms will always be open in love. I’ve had so much heartache in the last few years. I want the air around me to smell of peace. I want nothing more than to be like Christ. I can only control my side of it. I’ve had to let go of people I dearly love. But, I won’t ever stop showing love. Sometimes the safest thing for my heart is to just step back. My heart has to be protected. I’ve always had an oversized heart that I’ve always had to look after. It’s much more tender, the older I get, and the more I’ve been through. People tell me they’re so sorry I have cancer. Cancer isn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.

I know it sounds so cheesy, but I truly am thankful for every single part of my journey. Even this cancer. I’ve seen some dark days. I’ve been on very dark paths. My heart has been trampled on – squished between toes. I’ve had words flung at me, perhaps haphazardly, perhaps on purpose, yet struck every part of my heart they were intended to strike. I am damaged. I am healed. I am strong, yet sometimes feel so very weak. I get scared, yet I am brave. But, all this has made me able to sit and listen to people without flinching. Without withdrawing. It’s made me welcome everyone at my table. It’s made me listen. It’s made me love even more than ever before. It’s reworked me in a way that nothing else would have.

Being this open and honest is hard for me, especially when I know people I know will read this. But, I write it for anyone out there that is experiencing any of these struggles. I don’t want to write for an audience. I want to write what I write and not have it be analyzed by people I know. We all have struggles. We all walk on dark paths. We all have issues and drama and problems. Pretending we don’t is a huge travesty. And pretending makes it unsafe for people to come forward and say when they have a problem. I hope each of you will show just a bit more kindness to all around you. Whether they "deserve" it or not. Goodness knows we all could use a little more. Especially the undeserved.