I’m not sure when this “sharing” feeling came along.
Talking about my problems never came easy, except to a couple of close friends and a therapist. During the miscarriage years, I’d rather stay forever inside a cave – or move all the way to the other side of the country – than talk about it with anyone.
But something about this cancer feels different. I don’t feel shame, at least not yet. A feeling of unfairness every once in a while, sure. But if David Bowie had cancer, why not me?
Part of the appeal of writing about it is defying expectations. Everybody knows cancer sucks. A much more interesting story is talking about the parts that are not expected, like having fun with colorful wigs.
But what about the parts that are really cancer-awful? Is it worth writing about those?
Do I write about fainting in my bathroom and being rescued by paramedics in a puddle of my own sweat? I’m struggling with this one.
But, yeah, that did happen, and they took me to the ER in an ambulance. After going through a bag of IV, my blood pressure stabilized, labs came back normal-ish, and I was discharged.
As I thought more whether I should write about this episode, I realized that it doesn’t have to defy expectations, because this is not a story. This is real life, my life, and unfortunately this life is dealing with cancer. And probably this is going to suck more often than not for a while.
So I made the decision that should have been obvious to me from the beginning: I’ll do what I feel like doing, whenever the mood strikes. I’ll write about the good moments, or the sucky moments, when I feel like it. And I’ll go back inside the cave when I feel like it.
I just won’t move to the other side of the country again. No dilemma there.