Dear Lung Cancer,

You suck.

OK, that was mean. Let me start over.

Dear Lung Cancer,

We’re through. I’m not interested in being in a committed relationship with you right now. Or, like, ever.

It’s not me. It’s you. You aren’t healthy to keep around. You made me doubt myself. You made my family and friends worry for my well-being. To say your actions were abusive would be an understatement.

Over five years ago, you walked into my life uninvited. It took multiple doctors and a major surgery to try to get it through your thick membrane that you weren’t wanted. But you stuck around.

I like to think we’re done forever, but I’m constantly reminded of the permanent damage our relationship created.

Because of you, Cancer, I had to come to terms with the idea that I don’t have the physical stamina or mental focus to take my career to the next level. I made the hard decision to pass on my dream job.

Because of you, Cancer, I have a heart condition that stopped me from working for a few more months. I stay in a state of suspended animation about whether I will need a pacemaker. I have a “sloppy heart.” I’d rather have a sloppy joe, but that’s not good for your heart either.

Because of you, Cancer, my ears ring spontaneously, and it sounds like someone sends random faxes at all hours. Right after the fax is sent, my mind goes blank and I stare off for a few minutes. Fortunately, this usually happens when someone is talking to me at an important meeting. (Insert “Peanuts” adult voice simulation here.)

Because of you, Cancer, I’m faced with learning how to live with “what if.” Living with “if” is like living next door to your boisterous drunk friend. The one you hide from when the doorbell rings, but he sees you through the doggy door and climbs in anyway.

Because of you, Cancer, I still have crappy short-term memory. Post-its have become my new best friends. I set digital alarms, write in notebooks, and put reminders in both a phone and a planner. Then I forget where I put the Post-its, phone, and planner. I change ATM, Apple, Salesforce, Amazon, and Hulu passwords almost monthly. All the companies think I’m a hacker or I have schizophrenia. I feel more like the latter most days.

Because of you, Cancer, I can’t multitask. Maybe I should thank you for that. I have more inner calm and sense of accomplishment when I do one thing at a time, so I’ll give you that one. But I still curse your name anytime I’m asked to talk to someone in the middle of writing an email.

Because of you, Cancer, my family is still on high alert anytime I sigh, take a deep breath, or feel like I need to stay home from my son’s swim meet. (“Mommy doesn’t have cancer. Mommy is just tired.”) I have to save my energy and prioritize. I used to only be able to schedule one thing a day. Now I’m up to two things a day. Note: getting hair done always takes priority. Hair trumps everything. The days I do three things, I feel so proud and victorious, but then I bump back down to just one thing the next day.

Because of you, Cancer, my brain gets fuzzy, tired, angry, confused, numb, and worried. Dealing with you in the aftermath of the war you brought on pushed my pause button for way too long. Witticisms lay dormant. Vocabulary escapes me. But I’m back, Cancer, and you can’t stop me.

So, Cancer, you thought you had me, but I never had you.

Actually, Cancer, in many ways, I thank you. I thank you for giving me new perspective, a constant reminder to ask myself, “How important is it?” “At what cost do I do this?” “Is this really a big deal?” Cancer is a big deal. Most other things are not.

Because of you, Cancer, I use every day to make someone else feel special, valued, heard, or beautiful. There is beauty everywhere, and if it weren’t for you, Cancer, I may not have found the grace in everyday things. I wouldn't have taken a moment to acknowledge them or help others to do the same.

Because of you, Cancer, I am more apt to say what I mean and mean what I say. I feel more vulnerable and anxious in doing so, but still I persevere to be more forthright and brave when facing difficult situations or people.

Because of you, Cancer, I am now working in lung patient advocacy and with the American Lung Association to help other people have breakthroughs (and breakups) with their relationships with you.

Because of you, Cancer, I am not afraid. I have found strength I never knew I had. This strength helps quantify everything I do moving forward. And I plan to move forward, without you. I’m moving on.

As I said before, it’s not me, it’s you.

MyLungCancerTeam columnists discuss lung cancer from a specific point of view. Columnists’ articles don’t reflect the opinions of MyLungCancerTeam staff, medical experts, partners, advertisers, or sponsors. MyLungCancerTeam content isn’t intended as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment.