Eight: ramblings in the form of a letter.

Cancer

666 Dicksbury Avenue

Knobsville

Hell

Dear Cancer,

My name is Ellie and, unfortunately, I am one of your recent ‘victims’. I say ‘unfortunately’ because you haven’t really created a very good name for yourself. You really aren’t liked by people. In fact, I think it would be fair to say you are hated by pretty much everyone I know. People think you are a bully. People think you are evil. People tell me that I need to fight you. That I need to be strong to beat you. And when I first met you, I thought that too.

I was really scared of you. Terrified. I watched you take the life of others and you broke my heart in the process. And then you started to take things from me. Parts of my identity, my work, my freedom. I thought you were trying to take it all. Sometimes I feared you would succeed. I tried to establish some form of control, to strengthen my fight against you, and sometimes I felt like I was winning. That felt amazing. But you found ways to take that control from me. And I felt the losses more than I felt the wins. I could have given into you. At times, I have thought about it. But, cancer, you don’t get to win that easily.

I’ve come to realise that I don’t have much control over what you do to me, physically. I go to the hospital, I listen to the advice of the knowledgeable doctors and nurses and, whist I do my own research, I follow the advice. Because the advice is based on years of experience. On national guidance that is derived from huge, gold standard, randomised trials. On research that intends to beat you. I am relatively passive in this process. I receive treatment. It does its thing in my body. Medicine fights you. Whilst there are things I can do to support medicine in its fight - like stay healthy, take supplements and exercise - I believe that I don’t really have much control over how I respond to the treatment that aims to destroy you. Its not my fight. Its you versus medicine. And, no offence, but I am team medicine. Like, die hard team medicine.

But that doesn’t mean we’re not fighting, cancer. Because we really are. Just not in the way everyone thinks. Our fight is not about what you do to me physically, its about what you do to me mentally. And, sucks to be you, because brains and minds are my thing. That doesn’t mean I’m finding this easy because, as much as I hate to admit it to you, you put up a great fight. You are relentless. Brutal. The thoughts you create in me are evil. They tell me I might die. They tell me I’m weak. They tell me I’m damaged now. That I’ll never be the same. They tell me I’m ugly. Gross. That people notice the difference in me. That people will start to fade away. Managing the thoughts you create in me is really bloody tiring. But I will not give into you. I really don’t like to lose.

I have to get my tactics right. I know that you don’t give in easily, that if I spend all my mental energy on trying to stop the thoughts then I will miss out on valuable moments in my life and eventually my energy will run out. And I will lose. So, I’ve chosen a different tactic. I’ve chosen to allow the thoughts to occupy some space in my mind. I notice them, shouting ugly things at me. But I see them for what they are. Words. I don’t have to listen to you. I don’t have to pay attention to you. I choose to pay my attention elsewhere. I choose to focus on the valuable moments. On the beautiful parts of my day. On the love. The joy. The new plant pot. Anything other than your bullshit.

I don’t always succeed. Sometimes I pay too much attention to the thoughts you bring up in me. Sometimes I even think its helpful to. Not for you, but for me. To process everything that is happening. To have a good cry. But if I start to really buy into it all, if it starts to feel too much and unhelpful, I try to bring myself back to my tactic. I distance from you. I know you don’t like it, you make the thoughts louder, but the more I practice letting go of the hold your thoughts have on me, the better at it I become.

And letting go gives me the head space to explore other things. To see you for what you really are. And I’m beginning to question whether you are as powerful as you make out. I’m beginning to think that you have been quite smart in getting society to do your dirty work for you. As a society, we have a narrative about you. A story we tell, where you are this evil, powerful thing that takes the lives of the people we love. As a collective, we fear you. We even fear the word ‘cancer’. You remind me a little of Voldemort, he who must not be named. We hope so desperately that you will never choose to attack us or the people in our lives. Because you are deadly. This narrative made me petrified when you unexpectedly came into my life. I thought I would be scared all the time. I thought I wouldn’t feel happiness for a while. If I continued to think that way, I would have lost our fight in the first round.

But meeting you, fighting with you for the past few months, has made me realise I was wrong. I’ve seen a different side to you. Don’t get me wrong, I still think you are a massive dick. But, you don’t have the power I thought you had. You don’t get to determine how I feel. Where I’m at mentally. You don’t get to take away the valuable moments in my life. Because they keep happening. If I ignore the societal narrative - the one that tells me that you are a bully and I am your victim - you aren’t as powerful as I thought you were. You’re like Voldemort without the horcruxes.

I want you to know that, in my mind, I see you as a weed. You show up where you are not welcome, you try to take over, but you don’t always succeed. Medicine is trimming you back and, so far, its doing a good job of it. And whilst you’re still lingering around, I’m choosing to distance from your hostility. I’m choosing to find the beauty in you. Like the beauty in a wild daisy. Finding it makes the threat you pose less overwhelming. It weakens the hold you sometimes have over me.

You make me more present. You make me more grateful. You make me see my resilience. The resilience of those who support me. You make me see the love that fills my life. You make me feel motivated to live. You make me really want to win this fight.

I refuse to see you as the powerful bully you’re made out to be. You don’t get to be in the position of dominating me. This is an even fight. So, cancer, I think I should introduce myself again. My name is Ellie and I am one of your recent opponents. I am not your victim. Game on.

Yours sincerely,

Ellie