Fucking Cancer.  I hate that word.  It's crazy really, to hate a word.  I guess I don't hate the word, I hate what it means.  I hate that I know that word so intimately.  I hate that so many other families have to know it and hate it as well.  I hate seeing those beautiful little bald heads because I know what their family is going through.  I hate watching those telethons for St. Jude's but I can't pull my eyes away.   I hate that I'm sitting here at 12am hating the word cancer.

My son survived.  He's a survivor, the toughest of the tough.  He survived a bone marrow transplant, he survived so many other things that I have neatly been putting in the back of my mind, hoping one day that those horrible painful memories will someday be erased.  I think I do pretty well most days.  And then a night like tonight, so innocent in the start.  Looking at hairstyles for my little girl, I come across a prayer request for some little girl being sent home after finding a tumor that won't stop growing.  She died.  Just 2 years old.  24 months, 104 weeks.  That little bald head, watching a video of her dancing.  It's like seeing a car wreck on the interstate, you know you shouldn't look but you can't help it.  Then I think of my tough guy upstairs asleep and I can't stop crying.  Survivors' guilt?  How can that be?  I didn't survive anything. 

Fucking cancer.  I hope one day I can stop hating that word, but I'm not holding out hope for that. 

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Sep. 30, 2009 at 5:14 PM

I know. I haven't had to deal with cancer with a child. But I have had cancer and my mother is in the end stages of cancer. You would think that with all the money that is spent on NASA and spcae trips they could take some of that money and use it for diseases like these.

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