After surgery numero dos (that's "number two" in Spanish...ha...number two. ok wow.)
Let me begin again.
After this second surgery - I hated everything. Let it be known - I was not a happy camper. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die...alone. I was uncomfortable, I felt like Frankenstein's monster, it was not my proudest moment. Measuring success of this surgery is in weeks...not days. A week ago was much worse than today. That's a good thing.
I was interviewed today via email about the #blankcancer initiative and my story and was asked, "What advice do you have for anyone currently battling colon cancer?" Come again? Me? It was weird...I'm all uhhhhhh...who am I to give advice right now? I'm the one over here in the puddle of tears...bellyaching about my poor life. It's also funny - as I put my mind to the question, I began to think about all the advice I received, the well wishes thrown my way, and the prayers in my honor.
When you're going thru something like this - stupid surgeries - stupid cancer - stupid fucking everything - you don't want to hear, "Oh sweetie, it gets better." (you hear it in that annoyingly sweet voice, right?) Of course it fucking gets better - if it doesn't, there will be some serious issues. "Everything is going to be alright." Yes, I get it - sometime in the future it is going to be alright. But right now, it blows.
When I got down to my response to the interview question, the fact is that even though positivity and bright rainbow sunshine unicorn happiness is the last thing you want to hear...you need that for healing. The energy that a positive statement, a word of encouragement, a funny quip, can bring means everything in situations like this. I'll be the first to admit that I hate a cheerleader (not the cool Texas kind), but if you open your mind and your heart to accept all the literal and figuartive cheer coming your way...it makes one helluva difference.
My advice is to open yourself up to love and light even in your darkest of hours.
And forget to be afraid.