When I shared the news with the boyfriend-fiancé he said “Good, that’s good” in a monotone, and then moved onto his favourite topic of football and sports talk radio. Sometimes it isn’t what is said but rather what is unsaid that feels like a punch to the heart. Cancer or not I was fast discovering as I got to know him better how perhaps incompatible we were in many ways, and how these incompatibilities sometimes seemed to trump whatever romance and love was there. I was furious at the reality, at him and myself.
Jerk, I thought, why are you being such a jerk? Ok, the old Amy was resurfacing quickly, the fast-paced, quick-tempered woman whose emotions can surge like Mount St. Helens about to erupt. A funny thing happens now though whenever I feel on the cusp of losing it - just before a potential meltdown I ask myself if it’s worth it, if it’s worth the stress of getting stressed and sick again, and igniting those rogue cells.
The boyfriend-fiancé has a tendency to be as cool as a cucumber at times – he has his wonderfulness and also his shortcomings like any other human being. Like me he can be as stubborn as a mule. To my disappointment we both lack humour and a way to diffuse the situation. I should have been able to laugh and love more after being declared cancer-free, I thought. What’s wrong with me? Why did I go from being positive, optimistic and inspired to such a grouch and grinch at times? Why is gratitude so easily forgotten?
And then I remembered what a cancer survivor in Hong Kong once told me. We couldn’t change others – their emotions, their reactions and perceptions of us, but we could change the way we responded. It was challenging but liberating.