Cancer, it makes you weak, and just as soon as it becomes manageable it hits you harder like an arrogant reminder of who’s really in charge. Constantly I am reminded that I’m a control freak with no control. In order to get better I have to accept weakness; surrender everything I have in turn for a long and healthy life.
Tomorrow morning I will walk through the doors of Diamond Children’s Hospital feeling healthy and lively, scared out of my mind but none the less with a smile on my face. Tomorrow night, the chemo will begin to try and steal my courage. By next week I will have lost every ounce of physical strength left in my already torn apart body.
They’ll say things like “You’re so strong” or “It will all be okay.” Truthfully, no one knows what the outcome will be; it seems to me that everyone feels that being “strong” means you are always positive and looking towards the bright light at the end of the tunnel. In reality, being “strong” is facing the inevitable.
Soon I’ll be trapped in a tiny hospital room, banned from the outside world, isolated from reality in a fight for my life. I’ll feel every ounce of pain that comes my way, I’ll become weak; helpless. There’s going to be days where all I want to do is cry, but tears aren’t a sign of weakness, tears are a sign of willpower to survive. Other days will be filled with little victories. All of it will be a struggle, a challenging battle to recovery.. I know there will be times when I want to give up, but I’ll fight with everything I’ve got left.
No one ever said this journey would be easy, no one knew how much I’d be losing, but no one ever knew how much I would be gaining either. So, tomorrow as I walk through the hospital doors I’ll bundle up all of my passion and get ready to fight another battle. I will gain the courage to take down leukemia, I’ll do it with an army of supporters behind me and no matter how many bad days I encounter, I won’t stop fighting until the war is over and I’ve come out on top.