Looking a Gift Horse Squarely in the Mouth

Cancer survivorship is complicated.

Every single day is a gift to be met with open arms. Except it’s a gift from your 97-year-old Great Aunt Edna who thinks you’re still 7 and love Pepto-Bismol pink wool turtleneck sweaters with cows sewn on the front. And it’s the only thing you can wear for the rest of your life now. And you hate pink. And cows. And turtlenecks.

So you humbly accept it (it’s the thought that counts, right?) but you don’t necessarily like it. But then you feel guilty. Some of your friends would have given anything for Great Aunt Edna’s gift. What the hell kind of ingrate are you? Then you question whether you even deserve this gift in the first place. Some days you want to say no thanks and hope it’s donated to someone more deserving. . .but it’s your gift. No exchanges, non-transferable.

Eventually you learn to love the gift. You notice the beautiful details. You begin to feel grateful for the warmth it provides and laugh at the silliness in it’s design. You begin to own it. You realize your uniqueness is pretty badass, and you begin to meet other people in the pink cow turtleneck club. These people understand every emotion that comes with wearing it.

There are still days you hate it, don’t get me wrong. There are days you fight putting it on and instead want to lay in bed all day. Then there are days you just sort of stare at it in awe and can’t even explain how you feel. As I mentioned, it’s complicated.

We are an elite club of people who never wanted to be in the club. We didn’t ask to be here and the hazing to get in was pretty intense. But we’re here now. Wearing our wooly, pink, cow-emblazoned garb. And even on our worst days, we always have each other.

Whether you’re hating your gift today or embracing it, whether you’re celebrating or grieving, I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to the club. I love your sweater.