Funny, You Don't Look Sick

I hear it so often.   "Well, you look great," they'll say, and it's true.  I don't look sick.  I have cancer, but I don't have the look people typically associate with cancer -- namely, I still have my hair.   Couple that with the fact I weathered my first round of chemo like a champ (I trained for and ran a 15k race while on chemo), people tend to forget I'm sick.   However, I'm presently on round three of chemo (plus two previous rounds of radiation), and it's taking its toll.

A friend of mine made a great comparison today:   It's like kids with autism.   When you see a child with Down Syndrome, you know it.    Many times, when you see a child with autism, you see a kid who looks like any other kid, except his brain's wired differently and maybe when you see him he's completely losing his stuff about something.   And judgy people walk by and think, "Man, what a brat" while this kid's screaming in the toy aisle at Target.*

When you look me, a colon cancer patient, here's what you don't see:

My hair is falling out.  I just happen to have a lot of it.   The clumps I clean out of the drain when I shower are alarming.

I get tired washing my hair.   Like, physically fatigued.  FROM WASHING MY HAIR.

I get winded walking to the mailbox.   Or across a large room.

I have zero appetite, which does nothing to help me keep my strength up.

I am either constipated or I have diarrhea.  There is no in between.   The constipation makes my tailbone hurt.   The diarrhea makes my anus hurt.   Both make me bleed.

I have Multiple Poop Syndrome.   That's actually a thing.  Look it up.  It means I poop several times a day.   So the aforementioned constipation or diarrhea?   ALL THE TIME.

You know that scene from "The Princess Bride,"  where the Six-Fingered Man tortures Westley and sucks a year from his life?   That's the best analogy I've found for how I feel pretty much all the time.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the compliments and the support.  I really, truly do, and for the most part, I'm good.  I'm tough.   I cope.  But when you ask me how I'm doing, I will reflexively respond, "I'm okay. How are you?"   Take it with a grain of salt.


*Please forgive my over-simplification of autism.  I know there's nothing simple about it.