My Ongoing Cancer Story

Do Real Men Cry?

So I'm not even sure if people read my "diary." But I'm mainly writing for myself, it's a way to let out whatever feelings I have trapped inside.

I've been on Wattpad for 3 straight days now. That itself, I think, is a pretty big accomplishment. When you're in the hospital, boredom usually takes over sooner or later, and you're left to grasp at anything that is even slightly entertaining. I've been on my phone so much, I had to recharge it over 3 times today. I reply to everyone's messages on my phone almost immediately, because I am just so bored. Sports was a way to release my energy, a way to be "free." But I've lost that now, whether it's temporarily or permanently; I try and not think about all the things I'm missing out on.

When I relapsed, I knew I would have to tell every single person that cared about me. I told my closest friends, who I consider my family. Most of them were shocked, a few began to cry. That broke me. It was hard telling everybody about my situation, and having to comfort everyone, while you were hurting inside too.

Today was the first time I really took a good look at my body since I started chemo. I already look so different, so unhealthy. My skin is more pale, and I've already lost weight from the side effects from chemo. I look more scrawny, less muscular. Less healthy. Having no hair has also changed my own perspective about myself. I hate it. I hate how the new me can barely walk to the bathroom without having to bend over and take a breather. Even little movements can take the wind out of me.

And today, I saw my father cry. I have never seen my father cry in front of my siblings and I, although I'm sure he has had his fair share of tears behind closed doors. And I know the reason he was crying was because of me. To be in pain is one thing, but to cause pain? That sucks on a whole new level. I've always had pretty bad anxiety about needles. Every time they had to access my catheter, even if they put numbing cream, I get very anxious about it. The fact that you have to lie down with your chest out while someone jabbed a huge needle into your chest? Not exactly ideal. Sometimes, it hurts. It hurts really bad. Today was one of those days. I couldn't help but cry out in pain. The cry wasn't even all because of the needle. It was because of the shame to have to go through this again. To have needles jabbed into you, tubes everywhere, poison put into you, all for a chance to live a somewhat normal life? When I looked over at my family, my dad started crying. Not even soft crying. Just flat out sobbing. It must be hard to see your son like this. That was the moment where I lost it too. I wished I wasn't sick. I wished I never knew what chemo felt like. Wished I didn't know what it felt like to be stared at in public, because I had no hair. I wished I never had cancer. I just kept on crying, and soon, everyone was. It felt good afterwards, to cry out all my raw emotions. And to answer the title of this chapter, yes, real men do cry. My father did. My brothers did. My friends did. I did. Real men do cry.