![]() On sharing news that you can have cancer… again I decided to go, and I told myself, “If I’m going, I'm going to enjoy every second of it.” I knew that it was a temporary state, but that almost made it more beautiful. So when I got the news that my cancer was back, I had a big decision to make. I found out I was recurrent a week before what I call my “remission rager” - a trip I had planned to Bora Bora with my family. It's weird, right? I always thought that if you're sick, you're feeble, you're weak, you're pale, you can't eat, you can't move, you can't do all these things, everything hurts. I feel totally fine all the time - even if my cancer’s increasing and progressing, I still feel great. Plus, I have a sarcoma, so I'm completely asymptomatic aside from lumps growing on my body, which is a bizarre experience in and of itself. Something that I've been holding on to really tightly is the fact that if I'm not enjoying my life, why do I want to extend my life? Why do you want a miserable existence to be any longer than it has to be? Cancer can't dictate how I live, whether my disease is progressing or not. I wanted more time, but I got one month - one precious month. ![]() The truth was I thought I earned three to six months of normalcy - three to six months to build my body back up, to feel a sense of what my life was before. Somehow, even though the recurrence wasn't anything I wasn't expecting, it was still as jarring as the first time around. Within just four weeks of finishing 10 grueling months of treatment, and having a taste of being “done”, that hope was already shattered. That means I do a constant dance between being a realist and fully understanding my circumstances, but also having a degree of rebellious hope. ![]() My cancer isn’t quite terminal, but it’s incurable. When he told me my cancer would probably come back after my frontline treatment, he said it would be widespread and probably really painful and aggressive. My doctor is a lovely man but he pulls no punches.
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