A friend the other day posted a note:

“Went through my recent medical tests only to find out I have tumors on my liver.  I have liver cancer.  They believe chemo won’t work with this one <she had breast cancer 5 years ago> – so it’s hormones for me.  Prayers please.”  Breast cancer took away her ability to have children – a dream of her’s for as long as I knew her.  When she lost that ability but beat the cancer last time, she and her husband decided to teach abroad & live life to it’s fullest.  She needs more time.

The daughter of my dad’s cousin posted the other day:

“My mom needs prayers. She went into the hospital in pain – they thought its all related to the chemo and radiation related. But did full body scans only to find that the two months of hell she has been through did nothing to her lung cancer.  Once they have the pain under control, she will go home to hospice.”  This lady is special. She and her sister helped their late mother’s restaurant continued to be a staple of the town.  She has grandkids she loves. She has gone through hell.  Sad that this is the way it all ends.

Then today a friend in the kink community posted:
“Flying home to see my sister.  Liver cancer detected – they don’t expect her to live. I have to go and say good-bye.”

A friend from college posted this the other day:

“Tomorrow is surgery.  The surgeon’s goal is to remove enough of my liver that the cancer is gone – but enough to keep me living.  If this goes as he hopes, I am having the biggest fucking party when I’m all well and have the all clear.”  God I hope for the all-clear.  He has two kids.

Cancer sucks.

That’s a good, overly simplistic way of saying it.

Cancer is a horrible horrible disease to watch anyone go through.  My first year of marriage, I watched my husband’s grandmother go through a horrible cancer – a rare cancer that was everywhere. Chemo made her a fraction of the woman she was.  She couldn’t eat.  She couldn’t sleep. She was in pain.  She drank champagne because it helped. But then when that stopped, she was thankful for her doctor for giving her opium.  In the end, she told stories to us that we had never heard.  She couldn’t remember anyone’s name, but she could tell us about opium dens.  And when she finally slept all day – pain managed – we all sat around talking to the hospice nurse about how to make her passing quick and painless.  “You can’t overdose her at this point – don’t worry about it – you are only helping” was her advice.

Cancer – I’m fucking done with it.

A good friend of mine is an oncologist.  She is pretty specialized but I won’t go into what it is here because I can’t do it without possibly outing her.  After all I have experienced, I now know what is deadly vs what is curable.  I know the language – I know the signs. I’ve heard her stories – her goals for what she is trying to do in terms of treatment cures.  Knowledge is power but sucks in situations like this.

Because I know their odds.  I hate that.

But what I hate more? The number of people in my life coming out with this news.  All I can do is send positive, healing energy to them.  And hope for the best – the best it can be.

Fucking cancer.