No limits
Dear Breast Cancer,
I hate you. I hate what you did to me. I hate what you made me do so I could be rid of you.
But I beat you. Cut you out, poisoned you, killed you. But in doing so, I had to half kill myself.
It took me forever to feel somewhat normal again. And it took me even longer to get my cardio back. Slowy but surely, I climbed back.
I'm still not where I was before you tried to invade my body. But I'm getting there.
And yesterday, when I felt like I couldn't go on, I thought to myself, "What is harder - finishing this race or chemo?"
The answer was simple. Chemo, hands down.
And I finished. And I may be a survivor, but you do not define me. You certainly don't limit me.
I'm glad you're dead.
And despite of the terrible time and the pain during the run, I am proud of what I did. I don't have you anymore. Instead, I have this:
Hello, marathoning. I've missed you.
I hate you. I hate what you did to me. I hate what you made me do so I could be rid of you.
But I beat you. Cut you out, poisoned you, killed you. But in doing so, I had to half kill myself.
It took me forever to feel somewhat normal again. And it took me even longer to get my cardio back. Slowy but surely, I climbed back.
I'm still not where I was before you tried to invade my body. But I'm getting there.
And yesterday, when I felt like I couldn't go on, I thought to myself, "What is harder - finishing this race or chemo?"
The answer was simple. Chemo, hands down.
And I finished. And I may be a survivor, but you do not define me. You certainly don't limit me.
I'm glad you're dead.
And despite of the terrible time and the pain during the run, I am proud of what I did. I don't have you anymore. Instead, I have this:
Hello, marathoning. I've missed you.