By Jan from Woodgate
Unbelievable as this is to me… so many of the cards and letters I’m receiving from you wonderful folks appear to be hailing me as some type of courageous hero.
Well, I’m pretty sure many don’t feel the same, because I myself am struggling with the issue.
In reality I’m choosing the easy way out because I’m such a medical weenie. I simply refuse to even discuss an option, any option, that’s going to involve pain or further discomfort on my part.
After ten grueling radiation treatments I feel enough is enough. That creepy machine hovering around me was painless yet horrifying. I simply cannot tolerate a medical environment.
So there’s the question again: Am I a man or a mouse?
Why do so many other cancer victims choose the Big Route, i.e., special upstate/downstate/all around the world clinics, yet I have not one speck of interest in exploring a possible cure?
Several women I’ve had the pleasure of sharing zap time with were older than me, yet foraging full steam ahead with every possible option including chemo, surgery or traveling across the country if need be.
They were convinced that at the culmination of their treatments they would be completely cured and could just tuck this little incident behind them while living a cancer-free, no-end-in-sight life.
Yeah, well this gal ain’t buyin’ it. Trust me, they tried like the dickens to convince me that “today’s chemo” doesn’t make you sick and could add months to my time on this earth.
But I fear those added months would be spent hovering over the john with complication after complication, eventually landing me where I do not want to be: in a hospital bed.
There’s the struggle; the guilt of bearing the weight of undeserved bravery which doesn’t feel very brave-like to me at all.
I’m just carrying on with winter life in Woodgate which, let’s face it, doesn’t consist of much of anything no matter if you’re healthy or not.
And now with my new ridiculous sleeping habits (all kinds of upside down) the very last emotion I feel is bravery when, at midnight, I’m stuffing Donna Sbaro’s homemade raviolis down my throat and savoring each and every bite.
All this while chuckling at silly middle of the night reruns, chased down with a happy pill.
I dunno folks, I just dunno. How long will this be tolerable? Will I get to see and feel the warmth of summer this year? When does it start to hurt really bad?
Only The Big Guy holds the answer… and He ain’t letting on right now because, of course, there’s only room on the cross for one.
Editor’s Note: Cards and well-wishes can be sent to: Jan Knudsen, P.O. Box 147, Woodgate, NY 13494.