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Tell me how do I fight with my body, when there’s no fight left in my mind?

Understanding the diagnosis was hard, chemotherapy was harder, but honestly, becoming myself again was the hardest.
I spent countless hours, mulling over the meaning of my existence, reliving, in my thoughts, each experience that I had once cherished. It took some time for me to grasp hold of reality, to accept that my life had not ended as soon as the verdict on my condition had been passed. To not give up, or give in, to accept that these were the cards that fate had dealt me and that the outcome was still in my hands, no matter how powerless they seemed was an exhausting mental excercise.

My perception of my body shifted within a matter of seconds, and I subsequently spent hours figuring out how something foreign, something unwanted was allowed to grow inside of me, against my own will; and I kept staring at my hands as if they weren’t my own, As if I was held captive in my own body, as if I had lost all control.
When I saw the faces of those dear to me, all I could see was death staring back.

It was difficult, learning to accept their kind words with grace, and recognising sympathy instead of feeling pitied. Accepting that those who loved me were trying their best to be supportive, keeping me in their prayers.
Understanding what they were going through, how it felt to be with someone whose time in this world seemed limited, and to keep myself from leaving them to save them from pain of my soon-to-be death. On some days, it was so painful, that forcing myself to smile would bring tears to my eyes, and everything the doctors, motivational speakers, writers and my friends said sounded exactly the same.

How do you stay positive when everyone gets to age beautifully and i’m asked to lose all my hair just to survive till the next month? When my 4yr old daughter has to see her mother’s body pricked with needles, when my husband has to hold back my hair every night, watching the woman he loves, vomiting, lying on the bathroom floor, exhausted, crying? When I can’t get myself tell my dad, that he might see his daughter pass away before he does, because he might not survive losing me?
Tell me how do I fight with my body, when there’s no fight left in my mind?

Every waking minute seemed surreal, almost dream like and every morning I hoped to wake up from this nightmare.
Nothing felt important any longer, everything started to pale in comparison, but at the same time, the smallest things had never mattered to me more. The hope, the prayers,and the words of those who love me forced me to hold on for the sake of my life, even when there was nothing to hold onto,
and I spent the nights waiting, to emerge into a new dawn, a dawn
when the chemotherapy would have finally run it’s course, and the reports would sing a happy song.

2 thoughts on “#FUCKCANCER

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