Raw October: raising breast cancer awareness — one fact, figure, feeling, and photograph at a time.
I wrote the following post in August 2008. At the time, I had survived cancer for a little longer than 3 years.
Joey’s new mantra: It could be worse. He uses it to excuse his questionable behavior — like when he was playing at the dinner table recently, waving his arms all around like we tell him not to do, and he knocked over his cup of milk. “It could be worse,” he announced after locking eyes with my frustrated gaze. Not exactly my preferred response — “I’m sorry, mom, I know I shouldn’t have been horsing around, and it won’t happen again” would have been my pick—but hey, the kid is 7. How much can I expect, really? Besides, he’s right. It could be worse.
Sometimes Joey is wise beyond his years. The kid always gives me something to think about. Once Joey told his dad about the grandfather he never knew (he died before Joey was even born): “Don’t worry that your dad can’t see you anymore. He’s in the sky now and the clouds are his eyes.” He told me 3 years ago that cancer is “medicine and love.” Pretty good way to sum it up — I got lots of medicine and lots of love. I’m not sure in hindsight that I’d describe it much differently.
It could be worse. I keep thinking about this and realizing Joey is right on with this perspective.
Back to cancer.
I found a lump — early. It could have been worse. It could have spread. It could have been larger.
I had a lumpectomy. It could have been worse. I could have had a mastectomy.
I had chemo, and it made me sick. It could have been worse. My cancer could have been so bad chemo wouldn’t have worked.
I was hospitalized twice during treatment. It could have been worse. I could have been hospitalized three, four, five times.
I had radiation, and my skin burned slightly. It could have been worse. My skin could have been left sizzled and scorched. I could have been in pain. I wasn’t.
I had more drug therapy. It could have been worse. I could have been a non-candidate for the treatment (Herceptin), which could be the very thing saving my life.
I went to counseling for more than 1 year and took an anti-depressant, too. It could have been worse. I could have denied these forms of help and could be battling depression and anxiety at this very moment. I’m not. I’m happy.
I could go on and on, but I think you get my drift. I hope you get how this applies to your life, too. Try this next time you’re down in the dumps — tell yourself: It could be worse. See if it makes a difference. It does for me. And Joey, too.