Grief Over Grilled Cheese

     So it appears that Monday is not going to work as far as posting goes--wayyyy too much going on that night.  Wednesday is the new day peeps, so yeah, I know you all sit in front of your screens on the edge of your seat until I post, but try to relax and keep calm until Wednesday nights now.
   I wasn't sure if I was going to talk about this today, because it makes me sound very pitiful.   But I've vowed to be honest with this blog, and for me to paint this picture of me being this strong, confident, well-adjusted survivor is just sooo far from the truth.  Well...it's just not the only truth.
   I like to think of myself that way--I recognize the strength that I've had to show, and the confidence it takes in order to be a somewhat well-adjusted cancer survivor back among the "normal people."
   But on Sunday--and I don't even remember what prompted this random pity party I threw for myself--I sat in Panera Bread with my boyfriend, and all of a sudden began sobbing into my grilled cheese sandwich.  It was one of those times where it all just hit me...
    The only thing I can truly remember saying was "when will it be easier?  It should be easier!"  And while the kick-ass, gung-ho cancer bitch inside me is disgusted with this display of self-pity...I just couldn't help it...I saw glimpses of my past, and then glimpses of my future...and I don't foresee my life ever having that "normalcy" that we all search for.
   There's this part of me inside that is still so, so, so angry.  As if all of this just happened yesterday.  I am so angry because I'm different.  I'm angry that I don't have those wonderful high school memories...yes, I was not diagnosed until senior year...but the gravity of cancer just hung a black cloud over those entire four years.  I don't have the memories of being a senior in high school: my senior ball memories are speckled with shots (of neupogen, not vodka), nausea, and jealousy of the girls who got to sit and have their hair done, have their makeup done.
   I don't have the graduation memories of sitting with my class and celebrating as each person crossed the stage...I sat in the back, away from all the germs, and waited there for my turn, and listened to the thunderous applause that people gave me...not because they liked me so much, but because I had cancer.    I will forever be, in all of their memories, not the girl with the big voice and the Broadway dreams, but the girl who got cancer senior year...and oh, yeah she could sing, too.
   Oh, but the pity party doesn't end here.
   As all the memories of what I don't have flooded me while I sat in Panera eating my sandwich, I also was plagued by the questions of the future.  The questions I never would have had to ask had it not been for cancer: When will I need that inevitable kidney transplant?  Will I be denied health insurance because of my pre-existing condition? (Vote Obama)  Will I have children of my own?  Who will choose to spend the rest of their life with me, knowing that they will have to help me through the struggles that these questions will surely bring?  Just how much higher is my risk of developing breast cancer than the average person?  Is a recurrence of Ewings Sarcoma just down the road?  And where the hell is the long, thick brown hair I had before I took the razor to it?
   And as all these questions and memories plagued me and my grilled cheese, I thought 'why the f**k should I STILL carry this burden???"  I paid my dues to the cancer world, and the land of the sick.  I PAID MY DUES.  WHY SHOULDN'T I GET TO LIVE LIKE EVERYONE ELSE NOW???  Don't I f**king deserve it???
   Thus I reached the peak of The Great Panera Pity Party of 2012.  And I re-realized something I'd acknowledged several times before.  One of the biggest reasons I hate people feeling sorry for me, is because I already feel so sorry for myself.  I picture that bald version of myself, with her medicine pole, and her black and blue legs...and I want to cry for her.  I pity her, just as I would pity a helpless puppy on the side of the road.
   And this disgusts me.  And I'm forced the take all of those horrible questions and memories, and balance them against the biggest, most crucial fact:  I'm here.  And I'm grateful, I truly am...but I have a problem with that whole assumption that cancer survivors must have this wonderful outlook on life, and must be grateful every single day...because most of the cancer survivors I know are pissed.  This entire post has been about how pissed I am, still.  Pissed and angry.  That in itself is a burden.
    It's hard being pissed and angry, especially when everyone expects you to be nothing but grateful and happy all the time.  But it's just not realistic.
   Don't get me wrong.  I'm here.  And I'm so, so happy to be here.  I had a moment of real gratitude to counter the grilled cheese meltdown on, when I was doing barre in ballet class yesterday..  A moment where I thought: I am dancing seven and a half hours a week, not totally sucking at it, and we thought I might not dance again at all.  I did my left split for the first time the other day, after 2 years of wondering if my left hip would ever recover enough to gain flexibility.  There are many moments when I am really, really grateful.
   But unfortunately, there are many more moments of being pissed and angry.  And they may or may not happen over a grilled cheese sandwich.  I guess that makes me human.  I guess that's life.
    And at least I'm living it.


Love,
Jesse
PS. Mad props to my boyfriend, Matthew, for surviving The Great Panera Pity Party of 2012!!!  Thanks for just nodding and smiling until the end!!!

PPS. Congrats to my friend, Mike Mort, on winning the Cindy Award at the Make-A-Wish Ball.  Can't think of anyone more deserving!  Check out his blog!