For the first time at the Cancer Institute of NJ in New Brunswick. We got there at 9am for my first round of lab work as an outpatient.
The facility is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Beautiful views overlooking all of New Brunswick. Small rooms for vitals and other preliminary questions. Empty waiting rooms. Full service areas with reclining chairs and free coffee and food and small TVs and anything you could possibly want to make the wait comfortable.
I hated it. I hated how pretty it was. I hated how wonderfully accommodating the staff was and how warm and caring they were. I hated the view and the chairs and everything. I hated how real it made everything feel. I hated how I felt like I became the star of every sad cancer movie saga I’ve ever cried over.
It was terrifying. Because under the shiny comfy sterile treatment recliners was the underlying stench of uncertainty.
My mom and I sat and joked and waited for a few hours for the blood work to process.
I feel like I shouldn’t complain. Thankfully, the pain and the symptoms have largely subsided and I am, temporarily, stable. I know there are other people who are in constant unbearable pain and I feel like have no right to be angry. And I’m not. I’m scared.
I’m fucking terrified. There’s no cure for this yet and I can’t even find information that’s relevant and appropriate for people my age.
I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t want to be vulnerable. I don’t want to be angry. But this morning I was. Right now, I am. I hate it. I fucking hate it.