What does cancer look like?
It looks like being 6 months pregnant and having your mother admitted to the hospital.
It looks like finding out the gender of your baby and that your mom has stage III cancer on the same day; its being excited and devastated at the same time.
It looks like watching your mom cry and shake when they tell her she’s having an operation.
It looks like the heartbreak when they couldn’t get the cancer because it’s so big.
It looks like Christmas in a hospital.
It looks like radiation every single day for two months.
It looks like birthing your child and your mom rushing from radiation to see you before you have her.
It looks like “The radiation works and the tumor has shrunken”
It looks like pain and throwing up months later.
It looks like relapse.
It looks like going to the hospital three times a week for various things like transfusions, potassium, chemo, high fevers, bleeding, a hole in the gut.
It looks like watching your moms hair fall out.
It looks like learning to tie a headscarf to show her.
It looks like wondering if you child will ever know her.
It looks like a colostomy bag.
It looks like blood in the bag and a rush to the hospital.
It looks like your mother in tears and asking “What else will they find wrong now?”
It looks like helplessness.
It looks like tears, dry heaves, headaches, stress, migraines, time away from your daughter, gas, late nights, heavy prayers, faith in God, trust, doctors, nurses, I.Vs, pain meds, colostomy bags, tape, walkers, bed pans…
It’s not just a poster on a wall.
It’s not just a foundation with feel good ads on the T.V.
It’s anger, hurt, sadness, hope, peace, confusion, helplessness, frustration, exhaustion, joy, lots more anger, prayers, faith, weariness, and many many more things.
This is what it looks like.