Tag Archives: grief

And this is why I call it a battle

I am not a proponent of violent conflict.

But when something has been trying to kill you for fifteen years, it is impossible not to take it personally. And when this thing that’s chasing you starts going after your friends as well, it’s more than personal.

This is a war. And when I hear others rail against that terminology, I have to think that their experience with cancer is not quite the same as mine.

My own struggle to stay alive is daily. And it is a struggle. The enemy is persistent, relentless, and sneaky as fuck. I have now lost hundreds of friends to cancer. My heart has been broken so many times I am sometimes surprised that it can go on beating. But it does, and, against all odds, I continue to draw breath. Battle on.

What keeps me going is in part this notion that I am at war.

I lost a dear friend yesterday and my first thought was ‘man down.’ I felt incredible grief but also that familiar surge of motivating anger.

In less than two weeks I shall likely start my fourth phase I clinical trial. The front lines of this battle, if you will. I am–unapologetically–a cancer warrior.

I fight not just for myself, but for all who are similarly afflicted. I fight because I want to live, but also because I want others to have the opportunity to live as well.

I fight because I am heartbroken.

And mad as hell.


Ongoing Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I have it. There is no way in hell I could not.

Fourteen years of dealing with my own impending mortality. That one, I sort of have a handle on now. Not easy, but understood.

But the others. All the other people I have become so extraordinarily close to and then lost. Dozens. A hundred. More. Goddamn it hurts. And hurts with the knowledge that it is not going to stop–this ongoing loss.

There are reasons why I insist on embracing the battle metaphor. Cancer really is a war and I have been in active duty for far too long now. On the front lines against an enemy that gives no fucks. A relentless, nihilistic, take no prisoners foe.

Alive but with the knowledge that the only option open to me is to keep fighting. Even on days like today when I want nothing more than to have someone hold me close while I simply weep.

I am bent. Bent with grief. Wracked with sobs. Tired. Oh so very tired. But always battling; for me, for them, for all of us.

Rest in peace my friends. Now rest.