I’ve had cancer now for 3 years and 3 months. 39 whole months. It’s hard to remember what life was like before it, which is strange as I had 33 years of life cancer-free. I didn’t even think about cancer much, and certainly wasn’t worried about getting it yet I struggle to remember what I worried about, and what I thought was so difficult about my cancer-free life.
I often envy the people who don’t have cancer, even though they have problems of their own. Health problems, money problems, all problems are valid after all. Yet to me of course, there’s no bigger problem than having terminal cancer, unless God forbid, one of my children became ill.
I think, if I could just do all this again – go back knowing what I know now, I would appreciate my life more. In an ideal world my cancer would have miraculously gone and everyday would be perfect because even though I’d have problems, worries and stresses, I wouldn’t be dying anytime soon; I wouldn’t be living with an incurable disease.
I’m a realist but also in contrast such a dreamer at times. My dreams keep me alive and there’s nothing wrong with hoping for remission or cure, even when the chances are like 5 percent – what’s the harm?
I’ve realised that appreciating life and all you have is paramount, even when it seems bleak, or worse, when you know you don’t have long left on the planet and your life will be cut short. I know it’s not easy. It’s far easier to be angry and give up but it’s something I’ve been striving for now for 39 months. Acceptance and happiness.