Telling people, telling my family, my close friends, and all those who matter to me is exhausting and seemingly endless. It seems to go on and on and on. I wonder if I will ever be done. Some days I feel utterly depleted by the telling.
My matter-of-fact approach is often commented on. I do not know why I am able to tell people that I have just found out that I am dying in such an unemotional fashion, like I was telling them that I had the flu or had resigned from one of my jobs. I keep asking myself “Am I still in shock, or keeping the truth at bay?” Sometimes it all feels very unreal, as if it is happening to someone else.
I am not having any more problems sleeping at night than I had before I heard those fateful words “I suspect you have cancer.” But I have become aware that my nights are filled with dreams, dreams of struggle and loss. I wake often from a dream only long enough to remember parts of the dream before sinking back into sleep. They do not keep me awake at night.
I do not pity myself, nor have I ever wondered “Why me?” At every level I have accepted the diagnosis even though I am still waiting for the biopsy that will confirm that I have pancreatic cancer, and that it is Stage 4. Yes, I think it is unfair, cruel even, but it is what it is. I haven’t got time to rail against my fate even if I wanted to, which I don’t.
Nor do I want to hide the fact that I have cancer. It would take far too much energy, precious energy that I don’t have to waste on trying to conceal something that has so completely shattered my world and will soon become obvious to everyone.