Nice Fangs

Surviving cancer requires a great deal of genuine bad-assery...  We are one tough crowd!  This does not mean, however, that there aren't days of pure bravado.  Nearly three years past diagnosis, I find myself gritting my teeth some days, trying to look like I've got it all squared away. 100% fraudulent. I think there is a general perception out there that once cancer has been beaten back, life returns to normal. 

Nope.

People have asked me why I paint about cancer, why I talk about it, why I eat differently and make different life choices than in the past.  It's because the battle continues.  I fight with how my body looks and functions now due to treatments; I fight with my mind; I fight with my emotions; I fight with my memories; and I fight with the ever-present awareness that cancer could come back.  Most days I can stare it all down.  "Nice Fangs," I monotone to the tigers in my head.

I find it ironic that on Independence Day I am fighting with my lack of independence from the aftermath of cancer.  I went to the optometrist yesterday to get new contacts, and at the end of the exam he informed me that I have developed a cataract on each eye: "Likely from the chemotherapy."  Well.  In the grand scheme of things, this probably isn't a big deal.  Yet I am very aware that I just got nipped.  Again. Nice Fangs.

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