Lisa Machado, pictured here with her children, was 36 when she was diagnosed with a rare blood cancer. SUPPLIED, they said. It was the “lucky” kind, they said. The emergency doctor smiled gently as I cried — “luck” and cancer didn’t seem to belong in the same sentence. Neither did living.
Along with each of these images comes one overwhelming sensation: A feeling of being completely alone — the kind of alone that takes your breath away. As I began to spend a lot of time in cancer clinics, I became familiar with this “us-versus-it” concept. Cancer was a fight. I noticed the stories about people with cancer, those “battling” their disease, those who had “lost the battle” and those who “fought back” and won. I found these statements astonishing.
I was eager to know: Was I going to be a winner or a loser? What a strange and inappropriate concept.that I signed up for. I haven’t spent my life training for this, I am not happy or even a little bit excited about the challenge. It doesn’t matter how much, or how little, I “fight” — whatever that even means. Sure, like all people living with cancer, I do my best to live well, pay attention to my health and be positive, but how it all ends has nothing to do with me.
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