FEELING INVISIBLE?

One of the reasons I love reading other cancer blogs is they remind me that I'm not alone in how I feel.  

(Copyright © 2013 The Big C and Me)

I comment on these blogs when I can, sometimes just a few words, but sometimes my sentences turn into missives. And that's when I know I've touched an internal nerve, the one that says, You have to blog about this!

That's what happened this morning. I was reading a new blog by Lisa Quintana, someone I discovered via the Facebook page of the ever-insightful Nancy's Point. Lisa blogs over at...

ORANGE YOU GLAD

Day 12 of the WEGO Health Activist Writer's Month Challenge — stream of consciousness day. I have been directed to "just write, don't stop, don't edit." Here goes.

I'm not sure I understand people's reactions when they find out you have a life-threatening illness. Why does this news cause so many people to retreat like turtles?

Sticking your head in the sand is a handy trick, I have mastered it (and it has served me) well, but don't I get a free pass to stick my head in the sand? After all, I'm the one left dealing with this whole mess.

The folks surrounding me, resting on branches far and near, can slip back into their "before" lives while I — I must live in my "after" life.

Maybe this is just how it goes. We all, at some time or another, must deal with issues that threaten our lives and our way of life. Maybe I'm just like them. Maybe I'm no different. Maybe they are the normal ones. Maybe their behavior is appropriate. Maybe I expect too much. Maybe none of it matters at all. Maybe I over think it. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

(Copyright TheBigCandMe 2012)

Cancer is a shakedown. If you grab hold of an orange tree and shake real hard, you're gonna loose a lot of fruit. I feel like an orange rolling around in the dusty grass, lodged up against a tree trunk. (Between a rock and a hard place, so to speak.) Some days I feel like the orange in the back, left to rot. Other days I'm the bright and shiny fruit shouting "pick me, pick me!" 

I'm not still on the tree. But I like to imagine what it would be like to be back on the tree: To be plump and perfect, juicy and sweet, unblemished, waiting in anticipation for what lies ahead. I used to be that fruit. Used to feel bright, shiny and new. This cancer sh*t, it's bad for the tree and its bad for me. Like real harsh weather, brutal heat or too much rain — cancer literally beats the life out of you.

But blogging... somehow, blogging makes it all better. (Maybe not all, but some; I'll take some better. I'll take mo' better.) Gotta give the orange a voice. It has plenty to say, even when it's rolling around beneath the tree. Pick it up, wash it off — voila, like new! (Who knew?)

It's not so bad. Smells good.

Orange you glad?