Prologue

October 21, 2015 

(The day Marty McFly goes Back To The Future {Part II})

This started out as a story of my journey with cancer. But after careful consideration, I have decided my story is much more than that. Yes, I have cancer; Stage IV Colorectal Cancer. I’ve been fighting it for well past two years now, and still undergoing treatment. However, I am currently 39 years old, so in comparison, two and a half years isn’t really that long. Plus, I refuse to be defined and labeled as a disease statistic. If, I am to be remembered in relation to cancer, I hope to be “that girl who made cancer her bitch and whipped it like a man behind the toolshed”. No, my journey has been much more than this disease. I would even say it's been absolutely wonderful. It has been full of adventure, mischief, bad behavior, good deeds, acts of kindness, despair, tragedy, pain, hope, dreams, love and ideas; both big and small. As far as a life can go, mine’s been a pretty damn good one I think, and I like to believe it’s far from over. Then again, I may get hit by an asteroid later tonight, so I figure I should at least get the prologue done for the book I’ve been wanting to write since I was about ten years old. It’s changed quite dramatically in the last 29 or so years, and it may change yet again before I’m through writing it. But for now, this is the start. 

This is what I have always wanted to do. It’s too bad that I had to come close to dying before finally doing it. This is my story, as best as I can recall. 

Chapter 1:

A Perfect Day

Life is better in the South. I’ve read a few Southern writers who have said something along the lines that Southerners have better stories. Mostly, in part, because Yankees are too cold to stand around and tell ‘em. Well, I think it’s true. But that’s another story.

I’ve said it before, and I will say it again, coming out from under a chemo fog, is a whole new experience. You don’t really feel great, until you have felt absolutely terrible. That’s what chemo is like, for anyone who would like to know. You feel the very life of you slipping away, and when it’s over, you think, “Holy shit, I’m glad that’s over.” But you feel somewhat renewed. Or I do anyway. I can’t speak for anyone else living this.

Every time I go into a treatment, I am filled with dread. I have anxiety the night before and barely sleep. I know what’s coming. And every single time, I think, I can’t make it through one more. But then, somehow, I do. And when it’s over, I look back and think, “I made it.”
And I’m grateful. I’m grateful for the chance to say I made it. So many don’t get that opportunity. And sometimes, when I’m laying there, feeling sorry for myself, I think of the all the people who weren’t given the chance; those that were given a death sentence and some morphine to ease the pain. And so it seems rather selfish to throw a second chance into the wind. It’s wrong not to fight.

Cancer is not the worst thing that can happen to a person. There are far worse fates. It’s just the name we give to a disease we don’t understand. It’s not fair, but nobody said life was.

I recall my Mom, Dad and I having casual conversations around the dinner table about how we would choose to die... not necessarily your typical dinner conversation, yet nonetheless, we did so more more than once. Maybe we’re just morbid. I always said I would rather have a disease like cancer so that I would know the end was near and make necessary preparations. My mother always opted for a car crash, or something immediate. My dad usually leaned toward my way of thinking, but perhaps slightly more hesitant.

Given everything that’s happened, I still stand by my original decision. At least I have a chance.

It’s always darkest before the dawn.