for KM.

I don't know what it is like to have a husband have cancer. But when you told me your husband was diagnosed with a rare cancer, I saw the pain and fear and questions in your eyes, the determination to be positive and hope for the best; I know these feelings well. It all made sense to me now - the sound in your voice a few weeks ago when you said that there was an emergency, that I couldn't place but knew it sounded so familiar....it was stunned shock. (Is there even any other kind?). I know what it's like to mobilize forces and energy to get everything in place, line up appointments, call the appropriate people, get the second opinions and wait for results. I know the relief at hearing it can be easily taken care of, that it's early stage; and yet I also know the anguish at hearing the cancer is advanced or metastatic, and that treatment is possible, but not cure. I know what it's like to look at everyone else, to look at the world around you and think, how can everyone else's life go on like normal, when mine has completely changed? Don't they KNOW that nothing will ever be the same?? I know the cruel irony of a beautiful warm, sunny spring or fall day while life feels like it's under one big dark cloud. I am intimate with late nights of staying up with the stars because sleep eludes me and my mind won't shut off. I know what it's like to have friends never mention anything or ask questions, when all the while you just want to unleash information and feelings. People have surprised me, in both good and bad ways; I imagine the same with you, too. I don't know what it's like to have children and tell them the news, but I do know what it's like to want to - to need to - be strong for others. It gets easier, it does. And somehow, surprisingly, strength has a way of breeding more strength. I don't know what it's like to work full-time while my life feels like it's in limbo, but I know what it's like to have to study and perform when everything is uncertain. Though I don't know what it's like to have someone be diagnosed with a rare cancer, I know what it's like to have a loved one be diagnosed with a rare *enough* cancer (PPC) that no books are available at B&N on it. I know the feeling of going to the bookstore to find something - anything - to give me information on what I'm supposed to do, what I'm supposed to say, what's supposed to happen.....and just wanting to ask someone about it all.

In an alternate universe, or another lifetime, I would be the one listening to and helping you, instead of the other way around. In any other situation, I'd dip into my stash and give LiveStrong bracelets and the LiveStrong survivorship treatment binders and information or StupidCancer bracelets and pins....

I can't do much in this situation, but I can do this.

Cancer is a word, not a sentence. - John Diamond