Cancer is no respecter of anything or anyone. It creeps into a life, takes over, and becomes an obsessive soul of thought. A friend's remission is over. She was told they would work at extending her life 10, may 20 years, but "you may want to get your affairs in order." I, in my wisdom, began to listen to her concerns, but am obsessed with telling my story as it connected (or really disconnected) to her story. Yes, I listened, however, in the conversation, interjected my journey.
It is not my journey that counts for her. It is her journey.
I recall when people would tell me of their aunt, cousin, grandpa, spouse, child, or whomever, has or had cancer and included the details. It was a compassionate gesture, a connection, an attempt to give hope or understanding. I thought: "But our story is more important to us now. Thanks for sharing and making an attempt to give compassion to our story...but your story is not our story."
Listen. Answer questions if asked, but listen. Cancer is tough enough without the need to be socially correct in a conversation.
It is all about the cancer, the healing, the processing, the emotions, and the love for the cancer patient. It is not about me and my journey, it is about her and her journey.
Cancer is an obsession. Forgive me if I obsess about our journey, because as any (remission) cancer patient knows, cancer is an obsession.
