Can We Retire ‘How Are You?’ for a While?

I’m so tired of being asked, “How are you?” Immediately channeling my inner Dorinda from RHONY who said it best: “Not well, bitch.” IYKYK.

I’m not okay. I don’t think I’m going to be okay for a very long time, and that fucking sucks.

I still have roughly 10 months of treatment left (Stage III TNBC), and I haven’t even gotten to the Red Devil yet (starts in two weeks). Every week feels like a marathon I never signed up for (I do not even run). I’m sick all the time as in just not feeling like myself. Flu-like. Random fevers spiking. Stomach pain. Living in the bathroom. Nausea. Indigestion. Headaches. My eyes hurt. My white blood cell shots cause bone pain so bad it’s settled into my jaw and feels like someone punched me in the face. Eating hurts. Sleeping is a joke. I can’t taste or smell anything, so what’s even the point of food anymore? The fatigue is unreal. I could fall asleep anywhere, anytime. I’ve never been this tired in my life.

And honestly? I’m becoming someone I don’t even recognize. I’m impatient. Irritable. Mean.

My son is 21 months old and fully in his toddler era. My patience is hanging by a Cheeto crumb. My husband is carrying this family on his back while I spend most days completely out of commission. Meanwhile, my little boy keeps growing up and I feel like I’m missing pieces of his life. That’s the part that breaks me.

It’s not fucking fair.

I’m tired of being asked if I’m okay. I’m tired of the endless questions. My mom means well, but sometimes I want to scream. Every doctor’s appointment is just question after question after question. How’s your fatigue? Any nausea? Pain? Bowel movements? Fever? Sleep?

Stop asking me questions.

I know people care. I know they’re trying to help. But sometimes I don’t want to explain how awful I feel for the hundredth time.

And here’s the ugly part nobody likes to admit.

I’m jealous.

My friend’s mom was diagnosed with Stage IB ER/PR+ breast cancer. She doesn’t even need chemo. And I’m sitting here with triple negative breast cancer getting pumped full of drugs every week, staring down more chemo, surgery, radiation, immunotherapy, and who knows what else.

Why couldn’t that be me?

I know comparison isn’t productive. I know cancer is cancer. I know nobody wins in this game.

But most days I am just so fucking angry.

I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself. I’ve gained weight. I have no hair. I look sick because I am sick.

The highlight of my week was an esthetician telling me I had buttery soft skin.

That’s where we’re at.

I don’t really know what I’m looking for with this post. Maybe I just needed somewhere to say all of this out loud. Maybe I want someone to relate. Maybe I just want someone to say, “Yeah, this is bullshit.”

Because it is.

I have a therapist. I have support. I have family. I have friends. I know I’m luckier than a lot of people.

But I also completely understand why people get tired of fighting. And before anyone worries, I’m not giving up.

I’m just really, really fucking tired…