My friend got her “chemo cut” today. She took it like the trooper she is, sharing the experience with her two best friends and making it a day of friendship and celebration of life rather than one of loss and fear. I admire her. I feel a million things at once, and few of them are positive. I would like to think I would be as courageous and upbeat and hopeful as my friend in her shoes. I can’t say for certain that I would.
Mama never got the chemo cut. She didn’t get far enough down the Multiple Myeloma road to take it. She didn’t want to walk that road, though. She was ready to go. She told me so. She was ready to see Gary and Grandpa Joe and be done with hospitals and tests and needles and injury and pain. I understood, but I wasn’t ready to let go.
I get angry when I see or hear the C word. I hate it with a passion I can’t describe. I’m glad I can’t describe it. I don’t want to give it energy or time or acknowledgment. I just want to hate it.
I’m glad my friend is filled with hope. I know that is the way to live. She is a better woman that I.