Logic 101

A while ago, I read an entry by Dara Creasey that inspired me to want to talk about this that I’m going to try to talk about. I thought that it would take me a week or so to put my thoughts to virtual paper, the thing is that the more I wanted to write about it, the less that the words came.

I thought I was exhausted, or too preoccupied, that other writing assignments and responsibilities were keeping me away. It wasn’t until this week that I realized that the actual topic of this blog should be “Why don’t I ever talk about the fact I had Cancer?”

Because, really, I never do. And the whole process of writing this was a very funny reminder of why I don't.

There are people in my immediate family that don’t know that I did go through this process. Really close friends that stood by me while I was going through my treatments that never had a clue. Hell, sometimes, I even start to believe that those angst filled moments never happened.

I guess this is what you would call denial.

But I did, I had Cancer. And I wasn’t the only one around me.

Perhaps this is the reason why I underplay it so much. In the grand scheme of things there were other people around me, members of my family even, which were having a much harder time and whose illnesses and demise would bring greater consequences. In my house you’re taught to “tough it up”, or at least that’s what my mom would have wanted me to do, because we were supposed to be strong for the others.

A little background so that you don’t get lost in my verbal somersaults. Back in 1999/2000, I was just starting college and my uncle, my father’s brother, had been diagnosed with a very rare cancer in the arteries and conducts going into his liver. This hit my family very deeply, not only because he was a strong and relatively young man, but also because in the close knit group that we were, the thought of seeing his four young kids and wife go through this situation was the equivalent of reaching inside each of us with a hook and tear at every sensitive fiber we could have.

He didn’t know, for a while, because you don’t tell cancer patients that they have cancer… you don’t tell the kids, because they’re kids, they won’t understand… All I kept thinking was, if he dies, he’d never walk my cousins down the isle. If he’s gone, who’s going to teach my little cousin to play ball like he does? Who is going to bother my aunt until she pisses her pants laughing at some moronic discussion? And I got upset over not telling him, because, if he knew that this is not some stupid infection, wouldn't he fight more? Wouldn't he try to kick it in the ass?

My mother’s side of the family, and the one I had spent most of my childhood years with, was no stranger to this illness. My grandmother passed away from pancreatic cancer, my grand aunt has a very aggressive skin cancer that has left her disfigured, their mom and dad passed from cancer as well… hell, even my mother had skin cancer, controlled now, but she did.

In my very naïve mind, I always thought, “Hey, this is something that happens to older people…” because I was 18 years old and logic escapes you all the time when you’re that old.

But in reality, there’s no logic to illnesses.

So in the midst of settling in my first year of college, trying to find ground in a country and a city I quite didn’t have a grasp on since I had been living abroad, and trying to navigate through a variety of very toxic new friendships… my doctor discovered two masses in my thyroid gland. Just, you know, two nodules, “nothing to worry for now,” he said, “lets do a biopsy, just for shits and giggles…”

He acted so relaxed about it, and I was so busy to give it a thought, that I just forgot about it. I had taken a work/study job because I donated my tuition to pay for my uncle’s treatment, but in the mean timeI was also failing at half my classes and questioning my life while tending to the responsibility of helping out my family, taking care of my cousins and going to the hospital every free chance that I had… so I just put it in the back burner, because you know… I’m 18, how can I have cancer? Nope, that’s not it. 

I didn’t tell my parents, I didn’t tell my best friend; I just ignored it and got drunk on Bacardi and coke at 7am on my way to Logic 101 for a few weeks. I’m not even adding this for comedic effect. It didn’t help that my country was going through a gigantic social shift and I found every chance I got to go protest at rallies, and chant against the military and the government, so you see, I was leading a very hectic life. I had no time to have cancer, because, pffft! I didn’t have cancer.

It wasn’t until I went from a size 10 to a size 18 in seven months that, you know, my mom noticed that something was wrong while trying to buy me clothes for X-Mas eve dinner, the one that was already planned as possibly the last dinner we would be sharing with my uncle, because no one thought he’d survive more than one month.

So, reluctantly, I went with the doctors with her. To a different one that wouldn’t tell her that I already knew something was up. Because I’m almost 19 going on 5, and I’m still a child, and I’m illogical and seriously, I still think my mom can beat my ass all the way to China.

I was ordered to have an emergency biopsy, one that they make with an extremely long needle that punctures your neck with no actual numbing agents whatsoever.  That confirmed that indeed the two growths had Cancerigenous cells and that because of the position of the tumors, and the fact that my thyroid was still working, the recommendation was to go through with a non-surgical approach.

My mom downplayed it, because the family had other more tragic worries, plus, you know, I was going to be fine! I went through the treatment, I didn’t tell a soul and if I did, they didn’t believe me… because pfft! I'm 18! How could I? and then those friends were awesome like that. So… I just went through it.

But then there was the thing that I was still a kid that knew that had cancer. I had no one hide it from me. Because I was the one that hid it, complete with all my fears and doubts and all the earthquake that created inside me. And then I went back to my discomfort of not telling my uncle about his own illness... and I honestly to this day couldn't tell you what was the better evil.

During that time I went through fantastic mood swings, pills that would leave me exhausted and sometimes questioning the point of it all, I’d be the biggest lunatic from 8 to 12 and then turn into a tired mess from 1 to 5… by the time I got to bed I was already in another round of meds that would make me have the weirdest dreams. I feel sorry for the people that had to deal with me, because really, I would have hated it if I had to deal with the person I was sometimes.

2001 and 2002 were gone, the treatment was successful, in a way, but it killed my thyroid gland and made my pancreas suffer a whole lot. But, yes, I was cancer free, and I have been ever since.

The whole endeavor would result in additional surgery ten years later, collateral damage I say, but, you know, I am cancer free… and there was no point talking about it, because in an scenario where my aunt was to become a widow, and we had just had a coup, and my parents’ business was starting to suffer from the political situation, having gone through this situation, really wasn’t that important.

The problem is that it was.

Back then, my denial came from being scared out of my wits and not being able to deal with it, so I found everything and then some to not allow me that luxury, putting other’s needs and expectations before mine, because I could deal with it, because I had to be brave. But then that was a big lie. People are right, kids might not understand… specially if there’s a fear to understand this situation altogether, a misconception of what a grown up must behave like and then the inability to be a little sincere with yourself.

Years later, I found myself grieving the fact that I didn’t take a moment to realize this. My denial was so strong that I even denied myself that right to cry for my own tragedy, and I discovered that I needed that. I had thought at the time that I didn’t have dependants, a business that would lack a leader, no properties and debts that would be left hanging like punishments on the ones remaining in this world, that I didn’t have kids that would lack a parent if I left or a lover that would miss me, so I also took importance from my own self. I didn’t seem to care, so why should others?I know it was a lot of my own depression talking, of course my parent would grieve a child, and my brothers a sister, but my logical self told me that life would go on with less inconveniences than other 'more pivotal' people.

To be honest, a different type of compassion for my situation instead of a work plan would have been preferable, if that had been an option, but for whatever reason my problem was like a hurdle that was skipped and everyone that knew about it moved on, until some other patching had to be done. Looking back, I wish I had the clarity to have stopped any of them and demanded them to get upset, to cry with me for a while and bitch about how unfair it was that life was putting me through this.

How unfair it was that my uncle was going through it, and my aunt… and my cousins that were too little to understand.

In reality, I just felt very alone, even though I wasn't.

 

Fourteen years later, one surgery and 16 pills a day remind me that escaping logic is costly, in more ways than just the one that makes a hole in your pocket. To this day, we still don’t talk about my cancer in my house.

I graduated, my uncle passed away, my mom’s cancer is still in remission, my grand aunt is still fighting it, and no one really talks about how any of this makes anyone feel. Logic tells you that if no one is bringing it up, it shouldn’t be that significant. Logic tells you that there’s no point worrying; tackle it down, don’t dwell. You just deal with it…

Writing this ramble and going through my other share of tragedies ever since, has made me realize how much I wish we took more moments to acknowledge that we’re not invincible and that dealing with situations like these should include more opportunities where you’re reminded how loved you are, instead of how many doctors appointments you have left and how costly your insurance is going to be next year. I will be missed if I left, and it’s not a matter of ego.

Because at the end of the day… Everyone is a kid; the logic escapes and is useless when all you need is to be held and be told that everything will be alright, but not because your problem is not “that” big, or because you’re trying to “keep spirits up” for your own good, but that everything will be alright because the strength of everyone’s love for you and your own thirst for life will push you to whatever end, even if at the end of the day you end up parting ways.