Weird

Weird.

I wouldn’t say that this is an onomatopoetic word, but it certainly embodies the essence of the word. Just say it slowly a few times.
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Weird.
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Weird.
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Weird.
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See, you know the meaning of the word just by saying it. The shape that your mouth takes on and the resulting combination of sounds is, well, weird. (Poignant is another word like that.)

My life is weird.

It’s weird that I no longer have breasts. I don’t really think about it, but when I do, it’s weird.

It’s weird that I have these crazy long scars and wrinkly-looking skin.

It’s weird that I can make said wrinkly-looking skin dance by flexing my pecs.

It’s weird that it feel like I’ve been flat-chested for a very, long time.

It’s weird that I can see my heart beating when I look at my chest.

It’s weird that when I put my hand over my heart, I can feel it’s entirety beating rather than just the little corner left unobscured by breasts.

It’s weird that I might lose my hair, and my fingernails.

It’s weird that in the land of healthcare providers, the women are the only ones that ask, “How was your cancer discovered.”

It’s weird that despite the flurry of activity and gazillion appointments, I’m still at the beginning of this “cancer business”. There’s still a long road ahead.

It’s weird that people I know only in a very casual manner ask me about “my situation”. It’s akin to being pregnant, that time in your life when everyone asks you personal questions and thinks it’s okay to rub your belly. Weird.

It’s weird that I have a life-threatening disease. I don’t FEEL sick. I’d like to think I don’t LOOK sick. But the fact of the matter is that I AM sick, and I might die. And that brings me to the weirdest of the weirds:

It’s weird that I could die sooner rather than later. Everyone is going to die, at some point in time, we just don’t think about it. The fact that it has been brought to the forefront of my mind is just. plain. weird.

My life right now is weird. Poignantly weird.