I'm ok

You can’t interact with someone without being asked you are doing. It is the hallmark of any human-to-human interaction, at least in the Midwest. I’ve started being pretty honest, because it is easier and feels better than lying. Most of the time this means that I answer by saying, “I’m ok,” at which time it becomes abundantly clear how remarkably unaccustomed we are to honesty and what a burden that is for the person asking. They want to say something else, make it better, hear me say, “good” or “well.” And I get it. In some measure I feel guilty for my answer, for putting this on them. My family does it, my friends, and the doctors do it. But here’s where I am with this: it’s cancer and the full force of it is hitting me square between the eyes right now. I do not feel powerful and resilient and tough. I also do not feel totally despondent or lost in the woes of wondering why me? I actually don’t ask that particular question at all. Aside from being, beyond measure, the most frustrating and unanswerable question I could ask, I honestly haven’t thought it, though books and message boards and websites and doctors and people who don’t know me all that well keep insisting that I must be asking it. My family sets about asking it for me and then answering with poorly formed religious arguments lacking any logical composition or form. God gave you the insurance to be able to deal with the cancer, followed by a slapping of hands. Done. Answered. God gave this to you so you could learn about love. While I’ve no doubt I will learn a great deal through this process, this argument is the most infuriating because it seems to suggest that I didn’t know much to begin with, that before The Diagnosis, I was a real asshole and that only assholes get cancer and none of these things are true. As I explained to my professor who said, “You must be experiencing a great deal of terror and questioning why you. I mean, you’re smart and kind and have a lot to offer. You don’t deserve it, so why you?” It struck me as a weird thing to say, rife with projection because as I explained to him, “No. I haven’t been concerned with why. Turns out, it just happens and no one deserves it. It’s not like the only person before me to get cancer was Hitler or Pol Pot.” The reality of the situation is that there are a great many things yet to be learned and weighed, measured, calculated, considered, and decided. In the meantime, while I wait, I am ok. And that’s ok. For now.