Having cancer brings a person through every stage of grief. Denial, hysteria, acceptance, buoyancy through faith and acceptance, and I believe most of us hit a point of pessimism about the whole thing.
I know I did everything I could do to prevent this beast coming back. I stayed uplifted throughout my treatment...yea, I whined but I was entitled to that. I kept my kids and husband on an even keel. I even kept me on an even keel, despite being bombarded by drugs and fried to a crisp.
I'm pessimistic now. I don't look like a cancer patient anymore but I hate how this has changed me. In my head. I think like a cancer patient now instead of like the multi-tasking, handle-anything, juggling mom and wife I was before. I'll let fatigue sweep over me when I wouldn't before. This illness has colored everything a shitty shade of pink.
Am I in a rut? I don't think so. I'm doing my normal things and taking joy in caring for my family. I still get annoyed at the volume of crap in this house (toys and stuff!!) but I can't muster up the energy to do anything about it. This bone weariness plagues me everyday. I slept my entire Saturday away. That was stupid.
So I feel quite pessimistic about the whole thing. When I look at my hair, I wonder when it will fall out again. I'm happy with my eyelashes for a few days, then I get mad all over again. I don't look like me. And I hate this. There's some part of me that wonders if I'll have the gumption to barrel through the next round. Whenever it strikes.
There's my pessimism. I don't think cancer is done with me yet.