Can I Wear A Cancer Sign?

This has been one of my biggest lessons during this illness. You have no idea what other people might be going through.

I'm learning everyone has something. Each family knows a sick person, or has lost someone, or struggles with an ongoing issue. Many people have had a life tragedy and just keep on plugging. While the pain of those struggles might be easing over time, some are raw and painful and you can't just wear it on your sleeve.

Though sometimes I'd like to. There have been a few times I wanted a tattoo on my forehead that read something like this:
"I HAVE CANCER BITCH, SO BACK OFF!"
It wouldn't be kind or prudent (and it would be really painful lasering that tattoo off once I'm better) but at least it would get my message across.

I feel it in the supermarket. By the time I've walked up and down the aisles and filled the cart I'm at my physical limit. I'm tired and now the cart is 400 pounds (yes, I need three boxes of Entenmann's nubby donuts) and of course I have the cart with one bum wheel.

Tangent: have you noticed the cart area at the supermarket lately? They have a camera pointed right at you as you come in as if to say "We're watching you. You steal those Entenmann's donuts, we're gonna getcha!), then they have four containers of antibacterial wipes. "For your safety." As if someone has ever actually contracted Hepatitis from pushing the cart. Can we - for five minutes - focus on fixing the shitty wheels on the shopping carts instead of resupplying the sani-wipes all day long? Germ-a-phobes would probably welcome a little staph infection if the carts just worked properly.

Back to the supermarket: I'm so tired by the end. I try to unload my cart as fast as possible. I try not to hold up the line by digging in my wallet for the Giant Preferred Shopper Club Card. I attempt to help bag the shit up. But I'm so tired. I look up at the people behind me and dodge the glares. This is when I want a sign that says, "BEAR WITH ME, I HAVE CANCER."

If nothing else, it would give people pause. I might be able to elicit some of those "Ah, poor girl" sighs from some old ladies. Mostly it would be an explanation for why I'm not in tip top shape, moving at warp speed.

That's when I realize it's not a lesson for everyone else. It's a lesson for me. I'm the bitch whose complaining behind someone in the supermarket line. I have no idea what might be going on with that person when they are not out shopping for nubby donuts. I'm going to take a breath, take a pause, and realize everyone has something. Maybe that someone wishes they had a sign too.