the iceberg.

Feeling a little bit better in my head today- yesterday's post was pretty cathartic for me just getting that out.
Fo rmy readers, please know that I am not crazy- this is probably a good documentation of what having cancer does to a person. It turns even the most sane of people into themselves.
Well- maybe I am crazy. Good crazy though..
Seriously. I even saw it in my father - one of the strongest people I know, who dared never show anything as far as weakness. He still did though.
We are all human.
No one is super, no one is so magnificently immune to anything. We are all flawed, either in our genetic makeup, our thinking, the way we treat the earth and each other.  Even the pious are flawed.

Strength needs time to take a break.
The iceberg that all us cancer patients are (I will always consider myself a cancer patient for the reasons following) are weird and funny. We have our own stories that we are so ferociously protective of- our own experiences whether we choose to share them or not. Our stories are ours alone.
There are people who have cancer that prefer not to tell anyone. For some people, blogging it out to the world is the way to help them cope and possibly help others.
Every single one of us is different. I've read a few blogs by some cancer patients, and 'survivors' who look at others' descriptions of their cancer trip. People get irritated sometimes when others refer to their trips as "journeys" or "battles" or "fights" or whatever. Another Op-Ed piece writer from a newspaper pointed sarcastically at the woman who called her cancer a "gift". Sorry to say it, but lady- I know you were there too- but it is a gift for some people. I even call my own cancer a gift sometimes. A sick and twisted bad gift- but I learned from it, personally. so much.
I've used all those words. I don't care. I don't ever feel like I "fought" - like I physically put on gloves and really hit something. Or squished my eyes tight and made that ":errgh:" noise---- but there were plenty of moments where I wanted to lie down, but it was never an option. It's not giving up that is the key, regardless of what you call it. Struggling though, I have done plenty of.
We cancer folks are fierce in our own defenses. Between cancer, and the poking and prodding constantly from the medical community- who can blame us?
I remember before all this happened, I too was guilty of that "oh I am sorry" when I heard someone had cancer.
"Oh god" you think.
and your mind goes to the worst.
And I said "Let me know if there's anything I can do".
OOOh. I wish I could take that back even thought that sentence is a knee jerk reaction to anyone's misfortune. I'll be honest- it's an empty promise. I am never going to ask for help. I'm already down- the last thing I want to is ask for help.  It's humiliating. I am not a fan of holding my hand out or speaking about my financials, or even asking for something to be picked up at the store. That is not me.

There is so much to a person when you have cancer, that you only actually see that 5%.
The iceberg.
We hold it in, we want to ask for help, we want you to listen to us whine incessantly about chemo, we want you to see the giant hurricane of thought and hurt and love and healing inside. Our thoughts are invaded by cancer so uch of every day. We can't shut our thoughts off. We are now part of this special club that gathered on the Grim Reaper's front lawn. It's a pretty nutty crazy train.
But since our compadres have never gone through it- why burden their lives with our experiences?
 So we don't.
We chug on, becoming stronger every day that we have this bullshit inside.
and certain cancers have their stereotype.
Hodgkin's is the "good cancer".... Breast cancer is the pretty pink ribbon cancer. Prostate cancer is the easy guy cancer  where the guys grow mustaches for a month. Anyone suffering from any of these or any other cancer is disrespected by those stupid labels. It is never ever easy, good, pretty, or anything nice or fun. at ALL.
I hate my stereotype. I will never ever like the pink about it all. That's like bringing balloons and a clown to a funeral. Or using comic sans on a death certificate.
I feel guilty crowing "I'm cancer free!" when I know a few women with Stage 4 that will not be able to say that. I never realized Stage 4 breast cancer was it. I didn't know that until after my diagnosis because my whole life, society painted it as easy and pretty, easily beatable and something you get after 40 and so nice and pink and squishy.
 I never knew the horrorshow it really was until I got it. If I did- I would have gotten my annual religiously.
I was Brianne the Invincible. Still in my 30s, with little kids. Cancer isn't going to get me. Maybe my arrogance caused it.

I think people have this idea that you get cancer, you take all your meds, go through the chemo and then once you get your "all clear"- you are done. discharged from the Cancer Military, ready to go out into society. all done. Go live your life. Cancer has been beat!
So not true.
Some of us have this forever, even when the cells are gone. That thought in the back of your head all the time---- You will never see the scars under our clothes, in our heads and hearts....Or how my armpit and breast were entirely removed through the hole they cut my nipple out from. My stomach butchered. My body is just a stitchy meat map at this point. I have no feeling in my chest or stomach. No feeling. Uncomfortable 24-7.
"You look great!"- I like that- I say thank you.
I don't FEEL good. But If i look good, then great- but don't assume I am 'all better'.
I get looks when I ride the motorcart at the supermarket or park in a handicapped spot because I don't "look sick". The smiley comment:  "Oh you got perky boobs and a tummy tuck, what are you complaining about?" ... That comment makes me want to retch. Is that hot or what?
I know I make light of the boobs and flat stomach, but I was not magically transformed into Pam Anderson overnight. I joke. I laugh. I'm NJ. I'm sarcastic and full of love at the same time. I mean no ill intent, I just want to show this rawness inside somehow.
But in all seriousness - it's serious. I'm chopped up and sewed back together. Picture Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Do the perky boobs and tummy tuck still make you laugh?
Wanna tie a pink ribbon on it and parade it through the streets? 
No. NO. NOOOO!
We are silent, but we have whole icebergs inside just melting and crashing and breaking.
There is so much inside, so much... for all of us.