A lot goes through one’s mind as they are sitting in a tiny doctor’s office and hear the words: “You have cancer.” For example: “How can I be wearing a 30-year-old, emerald green Hugo Boss hoodie when given a cancer diagnosis? That just doesn’t make sense.”
The doctor is still talking but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I’m staring at the ridiculous prints of various body parts he has mounted on the wall. First off, they look like something photocopied in colour directly from the pages of an encyclopedia and framed in the cheapest dollar store frames around.
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Man – this day took a dark and scary turn. First I get my period that morning – now this? What next – I step in dog crap on the way back to my car?!
I turn my attention back to the doctor – I should probably be listening – I hear the words “aggressive” and “rare” and I think “Oh shit – why did I tune back in?”
He’s on his feet and he’s gently touching the right side of my face. The side of my face that has betrayed me – that is currently betraying me – that has for whatever reason decided to turn against me. Perhaps it’s realized that I’ve always favoured my left side. It’s the side I turn toward the photographer whenever posing for a picture. It’s the side that makes my nose a tad shorter and my chin a tad less sharp. Now I’ve done it – I went and pissed off the right side and this is how it repays me!
The doctor is a good doctor. I knew it when I met him a few weeks prior for my initial appointment – by the way he finagled a camera up my nose and then down my throat in 10 seconds flat without any warning. And I knew it by the gentle words he stated in preparation for this upcoming diagnosis.
He’s also a good man – I can tell. I can see it by how he talks to me and looks at me and by the words he carefully chooses. Even though I’m only catching a few of them here and there. I’m too busy plotting revenge on the right side of my face at the moment. If it thinks I’ll ever turn it toward a camera after this stunt – it better think again!
I look back at the doctor – he’s young – he’s maybe 30 – and that’s a stretch. I’d crack a Doogie Howser joke (especially since his last name is Hao) – but why bother – he won’t get it.
I’d hate to have to be the messenger of news like this – being an instrumental part in someone’s worst day ever – at such a young age. Now I remember why I immediately got a good feeling from this man upon meeting several weeks prior. He referred to me as young. It’s not often that someone in their late 20s/early 30s would refer to a middle-aged woman as young. Even the frickin’ hag at my neighbourhood drug store asked me if I qualified for the senior’s discount – and she is probably in her 60s. I should probably stop dwelling on all those that have wronged me and actually listen to what I’m being told.
Dr. Doogie is looking at me. He’s waiting for a response from me. And a whoosh of thoughts runs through my brain. How can I do this to my kids? To my parents. Then – Thank God this is happening to me . . . and not one of my kids. That would be too awful for me to bear. Then I remember my parents and I remind myself that I’m basically thanking God that this IS happening to their kid. I can’t imagine how devastating this will be for them – maybe too awful for them to bear.
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I stare at the doctor. He’s waiting patiently. My tears come and my husband comes to touch me so I remember that I’m not sitting in this tiny office all alone hearing devastating words. He is there too – hearing them as well – and hopefully catching all the details I’m missing during this bit of wallowing self-pity I am granting myself at the moment. I want to think the words “Why me?” but that’s not what I’m thinking. I’m thinking: “Why not me?”
Why not someone like me – who was always lucky and generally happy and healthy; with no major complaints; who goes for annual checkups and tries to eat healthy with the odd Big Mac and Diet Coke tossed in for good measure; who was fortunate to meet the love of her life and get married without having to succumb to an Internet dating site; who is blessed with three kids who are pretty great even when they are complete douche bags; who never really had to struggle with anything all that serious before. Why wouldn’t it be me? Why shouldn’t it be me?
I’m not the praying type. But if I was, and living long enough to meet eventual grandchildren is not in the cards – and neither is seeing my children married or graduated – can I, at the very least, see my youngest into teen hood?
The doctor is comforting. He is saying more words and holding Kleenex. I look at him and hear “hope” and “positive”.
Those are the words I hold on to as my husband and I file out of his office and together head to our car for home.
On Monday April 26, 2021, my life changed forever when I heard the words: “You have cancer.” This blog post is the first in a series entitled: Cancer Culture and revolves around my personal experience surrounding this devastating diagnosis.
It took me a few attempts to finish reading your blog because the big “C” is diagnosis is still very raw to me. You are one strong lady with three lovely kids and a loving husband to help you through this. I’m not one to pray,but I’m thinking of you heart and soul.
Yuck! As Cathy said, “Cancer sucks”. Larry and I wish you quick recovery with the excellent treatment your “good doctor” prescribes. Your positive attitude and sense of humour will definitely help, plus your wonderful, caring family members who always help their neighbours (thanks to your and Brennan’s tutelage).
Multi hugs and squeezes, Lynn
You are such a great writer. Honest with a dash of sarcasm like Zappa or Cohen. I would like to send a message to Adelaide, Millicent and Walter: time to step up guys. This is your turn to shine and contribute. As John F Kennedy sorta said: ask not what your mother can do for you but what can you do for your mother. Your mum has other challenges more important than cleaning your room, doing your washing and cooking your every meal. Start with baked beans on toast and next week move onto pork belly. From Jack and Helen in Australia.
Tanya, I am so sorry to hear this news. Please count on the community for support – we are all here for you!
Thank you for sharing your thoughts and emotions during such a difficult time. Your blog is so well written and moving . Sending strength and white light to you and your loved ones . You got this!!
I’m so sorry to that you and your family have to deal with this. You are a very special woman with a very special talent of making people smile and look at things from a different perspective. I appreciate your sharing your trials with us. Much love and prayers and hope for you and your family.
my dad also had cancer, I wish you nothing but the best.
My god girl! Of course when I started reading your blog, I was frantically scrolling, reading, scrolling thinking at some point we would get the “just kidding” with an explaining punch line, because let’s face it, you are hilarious. From one “comical” blogger to another, I always wondered myself what if, and how would I handle this news. Would I be funny, continue writing which we love, or find some dark hole to crawl in. You have not only hit the nail on the head with your hysterical antics but have shown us your beautiful side and how you will tackle this C word head on!!! I must admit my left side is my bestie too! I think it has something to do with my hair…I digress. I am with you on this journey my friend. Can’t wait for the next story. Your Dr. sounds dreamy, but may need a office reno from the sounds of his art work. How about next visit you take a self portrait of your beautiful left! Don’t lose that fabulous sense of humour and know I am thinking of you during this crazy ride. Much love to you and your family. Leslie-Ann ♥️
Tanya, you are in my thoughts and prayers, as are your parents, Brennan and the kids. The entire community is here for you as you brave this journey. We are all thinking positively for you and sending love. Don’t be afraid to ask when you need anything – help, food, walks, talks, blog readers, subscribers or orders!! xox. Hilary
Deep breathing as I type after reading your news. I’m sorry. You write beautifully. Thank you for putting this out there. I am a person who prays and will be for you and your beautiful family. Aching with you Tanya and Brennan. More deep breathing…🤍
Tanya, you’ve always been a true warrior. Use that power now more than ever. And when you’re low, know that you have amazing friends all around, who you can rely on. Let us know if you need anything …but in the meantime, we’ll say a prayer for you and your family. 🙏🏻😊
Thank you for sharing! We are rooting for you! Sending you care. (Alice’s sister)
Great article Tanya. If I lived closer I would slap that right side of your face for being so stupid.
Tanya – I admire how much you have shared and opened up about your feelings and experiences. Cancer is scary – I know I’ve been there. When I was going through breast cancer treatment 5 years ago, I also blogged about “my journey”. I used Caring Bridge to write my daily blogs. I often added a song of the day. Like you, I worried about my kids (and grandkids). Not everyone going through cancer treatment is as open about their experiences as you (or I). For me, I felt that opening up to family and friends was like opening my body to let the cancer leave me. I didn’t want to bottle up my feelings or the cancer. You will have a large cheering section following your journey. (Alice’s mom)
You are such an amazing writer, mom and friend. Sending big hugs, positive thoughts and prayers.
So beautifully written, as always. Thank you for sharing this with us with your personal brand of emotive humour. Love to you all!
Sending lots of love and holding on to positive and hope too. Xo
T we are so sorry to hear this news. Cancer sucks. We are thinking positive thoughts that you and science kick this. You will achieve your goal of being a Golden Girl ❤️ Let’s us know how we can help.