Hello in there
Do you know where you are?
… Do you feel any pain?

Relax, it’ll be ok
It won’t be long
… Before you’re fine again

…… 

A freak amongst angels
Tubes helping me breathe
Helping me live
My God… look at me

Even if I get through this night some how
Who’d ever love me?
Who’d want me now?

The pain is intense
Haven’t slept in nights
Pills don’t help
I’m a man with no rights

Flesh and bones
A gut full of steel
Attached to a bag
Bruises that won’t heal

Even if I get through this week some how
Who’d ever love me?
Who’d want me now?

Thought of my father
All he’d been through
Thought about when this is over
What will I do?

Thought about the girl I loved
Who gave me up so easily
Thankful she can’t see me this way
My God… look at me

Even If I can get back together
Get through this hell some how
Who’d ever love me?
Tell me…. who’d want me now?

I went through a series of emotions while dealing with cancer; there were the ones I kept to myself, and the ones I wanted others to see. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to worry or feel any sympathy for me, so I tried to stay positive and often used humor to make light of my situation. One of the things I’ve always been grateful for is the ability to laugh at myself and make others laugh, even during adverse times. I also realized that no matter how bad my situation seemed at times, there were several more even worse and complaining wasn’t part of the cure.

From the inside looking out, I really didn’t notice I was changing that much. As I went through radiation and chemotherapy before my operation I began to lose both weight and strength, but for the most part I thought I was adapting pretty well. I found myself using the way people looked at me to determine how I was doing. If I could keep them smiling and asking questions, then it meant they were more curious than concerned; which was good. If they looked at me with sympathy or worry, then I knew I was having an off day and needed to adjust my attitude.  At times it took every bit of energy I could muster to maintain my sense of humor and keep the people around me at ease. I felt like a flight attendant during heavy turbulence; if I showed any kind of fear at all, it would only make everyone else nervous and more concerned.

Unfortunately, the one person I couldn’t fool was the woman I was dating at the time. I began to confide in her more as I became weaker both physically and mentally, but her looks began to turn to that of sympathy and in some cases… annoyance. She was extraordinarily supportive, but I really should have kept her at a distance as well.  I could sense her heart just wasn’t in it, so just before my operation I made the difficult and heart wrenching decision to end our relationship. I cared for her far too much to ask her to share in the ugliness that was about to follow. As it turned out, my instincts were pretty accurate as the decision seemed to be much harder for me to make than it was for her to accept. It was the right thing to do, but a decision I thought about daily while I was recovering; I missed her terribly.

I wrote “Who’d Want Me Now” after my operation when I finally got a chance to take a good look at myself. I looked hideous and hardly even recognized the person in the mirror looking back at me. I had lost about thirty-five pounds so my ribs were protruding, my face sunken in, I had a big yellow bruise on my shoulder, my stomach was swollen with staples up past my bellybutton (which looked like a big zipper), and I had an ileostomy bag hanging off my side. I had to actually laugh at myself to keep from crying. I said to my reflection “man… you ugly”… and I was.

The whole thing seemed quite surreal and it was at that moment when I realized I had a long road ahead of me. I had spent so much time preparing for worse case scenarios and fighting cancer, I never gave much thought as to what would happen if I actually beat it. Would I ever look the same, think the same, function the same, or even be treated the same? Would I ever find someone to share my life with? It all seemed so unlikely as I stared at my freakishly chilling reflection, but the process was beyond the point of return and it was no time to second guess or look back; I had to focus my energy on seeing this thing through.

To be continued….