Thank You Cancer I used to say “f* you, cancer." Now I thank you, cancer. You were a cruel teacher, but you taught me well. The first time you invaded my life, I told no one for weeks. I had just buried one baby and took another one, who weighed less than four pounds, home with me. I didn’t want the burden of having to act brave and strong in front of people. I’m independent, you see. I don’t like to depend on anyone for anything. Call it pride. Determination. Ego. Stubbornness. Strength. Whatever you want to call it. But you, cancer...despise dependency more than anything. I had to depend on a nurse to bathe me and during my worst moments, even to feed me. I had to depend on others to help me feed and take care of my own baby when my arms were too bruised to hold her. Those moments are the ones I would scream in my head, F* YOU cancer! Then I had to depend on God to give me the strength that I no longer had within myself. I learned...depending on others is a gift. It allows others to be blessed and to share what they can do. I learned to depend on others for help, because I’m not always strong enough to do it all on my own. Depending on others is being humbled. Depending on God is necessary. So, thank you, cancer. I’m a perfectionist, you see. I believe my life should be like the front cover of the Southern Homes magazine. I always envisioned an image of a life with a solid career, perfectly maintained house/yard, the pictures of a smiling family, MY family, dressed in whites in front of a beach... I stressed over perfectly folded towels, the right paint color for the nursery, constantly re-did my paperwork at work to make sure everything ran smoothly, and I constantly chastised my husband over housework and yard work. When you hear the C word…all of the sudden all of those things are just petty and stupid. Who gives a crap if your couch doesn’t really match the coffee table? Who cares if the socks are on the floor? This baby might grow up without a mother. The first thing I did when I arrived home that day was to walk into the hallway to open my linen closet…and I grabbed all of the perfectly folded bath towels and shook them loose. I wadded them up and shoved them back on the shelves. I screamed as loud as I could stand it, “F* YOU cancer!” All of the imes I had wasted on creating the perfectly folded towels. Time for people, not things, matter. Spending time with people is priceless. So...thank you, cancer. I was budget-conscious, you see. I took pride in making sure I had good credit and enough money for those rainy days. I even took classes on investments and banking. And I almost had it all…and it vanished the second time the doctor told me I had the C word again. Mountains of medical bills defeated my efforts. We will never own a home again. F* you cancer! I don’t want to rent for the rest of my life…I worked so hard to get my college degrees and to have a profession where I can spend my summers on vacations! What did you teach me? A house and a home are the not the same. At home I can sit between my two precious daughters and snuggle with them as we watch movies. At home I can enjoy the breeze on a hammock as I read my favorite books. I learned, for the second time, that a house is not needed for me to enjoy this beautiful home. Thank you, cancer. You took away so many wonderful people in my life and others. You are hated. You left, but came back twice. You still threaten to return like a weed, ready to crawl over me and suck the flower out of me. You're a bully in every sense of the word. I don’t know if I will be able to fight you again. I do know that I know how to let go and enjoy the moments…to truly appreciate the things in life that really matters. I take nothing for granted as I enjoy the small, yet wonderful, things. For that, I thank you. You are indeed a great teacher.