Mad at cancer

Even though it sounds ridiculous, I’m suddenly really mad at cancer.

I know, hurt and pain is underneath most anger, and that’s definitely the case here. I almost feel like I don’t have a right to be mad because he’s still here for the time being. I’m pre-mad, anticipating the grief that I know is coming.

I also know all about not ruining today by worrying about tomorrow. It doesn’t help that my hormones are super out of whack right now. But you know, thinking about tomorrow isn’t hypothetical anymore. This is real stuff I have to think about.

His official diagnosis is stage 4 cancer. 17 percent survival rate to five years. He can beat the odds and he believes he’s technically stage 3, which gives him 40 percent odds of making it five years.

I know odds are just numbers and he’s a person, not a statistic. But if you go by the numbers – even the better odds for stage 3 – there’s still a greater chance that he won’t be here in five years than that he will. Do you know how fast five years go by?

Tomorrow I will try to be positive and hopeful again. But right now I am so fucking mad at cancer. We were supposed to grow old together and we won’t. I hope he’ll be healthy enough that we can do a little bit of the traveling we wanted to do. But we may not get to, depending on his health.

I just feel so robbed. Like I said, I’m pre-mad, angry about things that haven’t happened yet but probably will.

People who know us have always said we’re a special couple. We get along remarkably well. We’ve gotten through a lot of stuff, especially a lot of hardships, and things are just starting to get a lot better. And now, cancer is threatening to take it away, a ticking time bomb.

Other couples aren’t as happy as we are and they don’t have to suffer like this. How is this fucking fair in the slightest? Good people shouldn’t die young. Happy couples shouldn’t have premature endings. This is so grossly unfair in every way.

Tomorrow I hope I can get back on track. Feel positive again that he’ll make it 15 years or more. But even that’s still a premature end to the best relationship I’ve ever had. I don’t know how to brace myself for the probable reality vs staying hopeful. I’m naturally skeptical whenever I feel like I’m trying to talk myself into something that isn’t real.

But at the same time, I can’t be wallowing in self-pity over the bad stuff that is surely coming but isn’t here yet. This a tough space to occupy, knowing I’ll be a widow but not knowing when.

Man, fuck cancer.

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