Last Letters to Those I've Loved and Hated.

Introduction to My Fucking Life

I don't know where exactly I should start..
Well, why not skip right to the juicy stuff you all want to hear anyway.
Just kidding.
If you want you hear about my cancer, you're gonna have to sit through the pointless stuff too.. I did.

The first time I remember thinking about the C word was when I was about 11, I was watching My Girl for the first time after getting it for Christmas. Vada Sultenfuss was telling her dad she thought she was dying of breast cancer because one of her boobs was bigger. I remember lifting my pink tea stained nightgown down at my large uneven boobs (yes I did have large boobs when I was 11 years old.. Bad genes.. Or good one's depending on how you look at it I guess.. or very bad if you look at it another way.. I'll get back to that later.)
Anyway, sidetracked; Vada Sultenfuss, cancer, my premature large boobs.
I looked down, mine too were very uneven.. To say it calmly.. No.. there was no "calmly".. I flipped my shit.
(note, I have a bit of a potty mouth.. Hope it doesn't offend any of you.. Who am I kidding. I know half you reading this are offended. I don't really give a... umm.. You know.. Yeah.. K. I have a bit of a language issue, but honestly, I don't use God's name in vain (Except that one time when I was almost t-boned driving with a friend in the middle of the night but come on I almost died..) I just occasionally say a few choice words. Get over it, I'm not selling cocaine to 8 year olds.. That guy lives down the road he also steals bikes and throws cucumbers across his yard.. anyway..)
I never said anything to anyone about being convinced I was going to die at the ripe age of 11.. At the time I lived with my mom and older brother. My sisters we both moved out, one married with kids and the other fresh out of college. I was also homeschooled (there was this incident in middle school with cults and stuff so.. Yeah homeschooling it was.) I didn't really have any friends my age at the time except for my cousin Addi who was two years younger than me and flatter then paper (and resented me for it so we'd stuff scarves down her shirt to make her look "primed") so there wasn't anyone to talk to about what I was going through.
Everyday I prepared for death, I remember writing out my will indicating Addi were to take all my stuff and I was to be buried in my camo Betty Boop shirt and blue boot cut jeans with the sparkly butterfly on the back pocket.. If my memory serves me correctly I also requested that Billie Joe Armstrong come and perform Boulevard of Broken Dreams at my funeral.. I was a very happy go lucky child..
It wasn't until Addi grew older (and a pair of boobs) that I learned it was normal to have lopsided breasts.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry over the irony.. Writing about my breast cancer scare when I was 11.. While I sit here at 18 wondering when (not if, when.. The doctors made that pretty clear) those little evil cells that have spread past my breast will kill me.
Take my life away.
It's hard writing "take my life away".. Because that's what it does.. Cancer will eventually take me away, from my family, from the one's I love, the one's that love me, the one's who barely know me, the one's I barely know. Regardless of the relation, cancer will take me away from them.
Whether suddenly..
Or slowly.
You see the thing about cancer.
Cancer doesn't care about any of us.. Where here we all our caring so much about it, donating all our money to the Smarts at Harvard and Yale to find out more about it.
But
Cancer doesn't give a second thought about any of us.
Cancer doesn't care about my family, about my friends, my boyfriend or the guy who always knows my order at the coffee shop.
Cancer just doesn't care.
It could be nice and take me lovingly in the middle of the night while I sleep.
Or while I'm already at the hospital for another doctors appointment.
But
Cancer could also be a bitch, and take me away at the dinner table, during a Sunday night dinner everyone with a mouth full chicken tacos then, with everyone staring, screaming, calling ambulances, crying, silently watching, knowing there's nothing they can do.
Or during a shopping spree with my friends. I'll just collapse right there looking at lacey underwear while the rest of them fling bras at each other and count how many guys they can wink at.
Or during a date night with my boyfriend, I'll fall asleep laying on his chest while we watch The Office, I might wake up from shortness of breath or pain in my chest and anywhere else the damn cancer has spread by then.. and the love of my life will hold me in his arms as I slowly stop breathing, as my heart slowly stops beating.
Cancer doesn't give a damn about any of them. Doesn't care that they wouldn't make chicken tacos again. They wouldn't play the winking game again. He wouldn't finish The Office.  Cancer will take me whenever Cancer damn well pleases. 
This is my rebellion. This book. This is my screw you to cancer.

Well, guess we might as well get into it, it was a Sunday, March 12th; Addison, Katiya and I were having a girls day out of town.

Addi's laying down in the backseat as Kat and I roll the windows down and sing to the guys in the car pulled up next to us. They wink and shout for us to give them our number and we shout thanks to God as the light turns green and we speed ahead cackling.
"I. Hate. You. Guys!" Addi yells at us but we can barely hear her over our laughter, hell, she can barely get her words out over her own laughter.
The windows are down and our hair is flying everywhere, I can feel the bass of the music pounding as we spin the dial a few times to the left.

 

"Maybe you need to be resized Honey." This middle aged worker with brown curls says leaning against the wall as Addi pokes overflowing boob and Kat checks herself out in the mirror.
I take one last look in the mirror, the bra is red with black lace around the top, sticks up from my pale skin I try to get past the twinge of insecurity as my boob kinda pours out of the side.. And other side.. And front. I agree.
She pulled me behind this curtain and measured me, I tried not to cringe as she feels up my boobs.. K.. I know that's not what she was actually doing, but that's what it feels like.
She wrote down my measurements as I put my shirt on. She turned to leave but stopped, maybe she forgot one of the measures.
She didn't forget any measurements..
"Honey, I think you need to make an appointment with your doctor.."
That was it. That was the moment.

 
I don't know if you know what it's like to have a machine squish your boobs and have doctors check for signs of cancer.. In case you haven't.. It feels like this.. Picture your boob, a melon (I know, a melon, way to be original Meyer.. But go with me for a second), and there's a tiny grape inside of that melon, well, that machine wants really bad to find that grape, so it's gonna squish the hell out of that melon until it finds that grape or concludes there is no grape to be found.. I'm not sure if that makes sense.. All in all. It hurts. A lot.

It was pretty bad I guess.. The doctors knew right away.. They couldn't tell me until they'd done all the proper tests and protocals. But they knew.. I think we all did, the moment we stepped into that hospital we knew.

Sitting in the waiting room I was suddenly very grateful for my old barista job.. I couldn't imagine working here and not wanting to shove myself in the paper shredder.
The walsl are a pale yellow, beige, two cork boarded are laced with what appears to be an organized chaos of announcements, support groups, activities and motivational posters, that for most of us, is complete bullshit.
I can't tell whether it's melancholy or utter hypocrisy that, in the left corner is a picture of a pastel purple flower with text that says "Everything will be just fine." Meanwhile the right corner is business cards for hospice care.
"Holy tits it's freezing in here." I complain outwardly. Mom snaps her head and glares at me.
"Language Meyer!" She hisses and I just lean toward her.
"I said tits it's not a sin Mother."
"Well maybe if you were wearing actual clothes you'd be warmer." She snarks back and I look down at my outfit, heavy duty boots, ripped black leggings and a sheer black long sleeve with a plaid bralette.
I agree it's a little risk-ey