cut it, burn it and poison it
After my diagnosis,
I came to realise that I do want to fight for this life after all.
I don’t know if there is such a thing as a “next life” where I’ll get to meet the people I love again.
Mum,
I’m sorry for being so mean lately. I’m just so tired of being in pain all the time.
A faint sound of pop music played on the radio as I lied flat
on the radiotherapy bed, with the machine buzzing me with beams.
I pretended I was floating in space.
Away from this pain.
Away from this ache.
The treatments I’ve had meant that I would never be able to have my own children, which didn’t at first ...
but every now and then,
I would see a mum with her baby strapped tightly to her chest and I would get a little sad. It leaves me wondering what I could have had.
I was crying.
I knew I would cry tonight.
I knew I would cry tomorrow.
Will I ever feel safe again?
Were you able to sleep last night?
I’ll be there at 2PM. Take care. Love, Mum
The afternoon I was discharged from the hospital, I walked to the supermarket to get a pastry.
Such a little task meant a lot to me at the time.
For the first time ever,
I was proud of myself.
Mum, I just finished the MRI scan. I fell asleep in the machine. Feeling a bit stressed ... but I’ll be okay.
Chemo infusions take hours to complete. It gave my mind too much time to wonder around aimlessly.
Looking around the room, seeing other young people also hooked to this poison that we hope will save us from ourselves.
I hate thinking “why us?”
There is no answer for that.
My scans came back clear but I couldn’t find the strength to celebrate because I was still paralysed remembering the faces of everyone else
who never got a chance at survival. Sometimes what doesn’t kill you, leaves with a terrible heartache.
Mum,
I hope this year will be kinder to us.
