Being Candid

What to do with this space?

Writing about my illness is a struggle.  I write a paragraph, and then I just lock up and walk away.

I believe it is one huge trauma made up of many smaller traumas.

I could write about how my doctor and I were caught in this terrible dance of transference and countertransference and how he was either under involved or over involved. But yet I loved him anyway.

Or I could write about how I was scanned twice after radiation, with the radiologist coming out to obtain a history from me before the second one while not telling me the reason for scanning me twice.

I could tell you about how I left the hospital that day, sobbing, because I imagined the worst.

And how Dr. Overinvolved reacted when I mentioned my concern over being scanned twice, “Oh they always do that.”

Most of all, I want to say how I have struggled mightily to do something with this experience.  But I am stuck in those days, watching the years go by, watching my hair fade to grey, thinking I know how to get unstuck but finding myself more stuck than ever.

When will the Train Wreck Cancer Girl finally make good?

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