The Hardest Part

You all know how I live by now. Chemo every two weeks, during which I lay low from Monday to Wednesday and pop out of bed like a new woman by Thursday. After that, I feel as if I've never had even one round of chemo treatment. I go about my days just as any person without cancer would: at work and the gym, out with friends, driving in traffic, shopping at Whole Foods, going nuts while watching Duke Basketball games, etc. Except I don't go about my days just as any person without cancer would: I run The WunderGlo Foundation, email my oncologist about everything under the sun, and interact with other cancer warriors over email and Facebook (sometimes spending hours in a given week talking on the phone with newly diagnosed patients or their spouses/children). There's no getting cancer out of my life, and I wouldn't want to. I embrace the challenges of fighting the cancer within my own body, and I more than embrace my community of cancer warriors -- I love my community of cancer warriors. But with the bonds of friendship comes the vulnerability we all feel when we care about someone. We feel pain when we lose them, whether through strained relationships or time and distance. But nothing, nothing feels worse than when we actually lose them. When they die. I'm only 30 years old, but because of cancer, I have watched many of my friends die. And I have no illusions when it comes to the cold, hard truth that more of my friends will succumb to this disease. This is, by far, the hardest part of being a cancer warrior. The physical pain that I've endured is nothing. The fact that I can't have my own biological children is nothing. The fact that my own long-term survival is still something that nobody can ensure is nothing. These things are nothing compared to the sadness, frustration, and anger I feel when I lose a friend to cancer. But that's not all I feel. I feel compelled to make things different. I feel like its my duty, as a patient who is thriving while in treatment, to help anyone who needs it. To offer an encouraging word, to share my thoughts on treatment or diet or fitness. To try to empower fellow patients to take control of their treatment paths and feel as confident and strong as I do. And finally, to dedicate myself to being a part of the force that finds the cure. The CURE. For everyone. I am actively working on that last part, but I'm not quite ready to share all the details with you, my dear readers. But I will share the details with you. And soon. Cancer, I hope you can hear me coming for you. Because I am coming for you. And I'm not going to stop. Rest in Peace to my friends. My fellow cancer warriors. I will never forget you.