Hate is a strong word. Many people overuse it to the point where it loses some of its meaning. "I hate broccoli", "I hate those shoes", "I hate the smell of onions" are all examples of the misuse of the word.
You don't hate broccoli, you don't hate a pair of shoes, and you don't hate the smell of onions. They might not be your favourite, you might actively dislike them, but it's not actual gut-wrenching hatred.
That being said, I hate cancer. Nope, scratch that. I FUCKING hate cancer.
I hate what it has done to my little boy, how his own blood cells have turned against him. I hate how we have to pump his little body full of chemotherapy because the toxic drugs and their side effects are better than having leukemia. I hate not knowing how my older son has been or will be affected by having a brother with a life threatening illness. I hate the excessive stress, and anxiety my wife and I have lived with for almost a year. I hate how my thoughts betray me; how any small family medical issue causes me undue anguish, and worry that my older son, my wife, or I have cancer. I hate what my fears and despairs have done to me as a person. I hate you, cancer. I fucking hate you.
As a disclaimer, there's nothing bad that's happened to cause me to write this post. E is continuing on in maintenance, and if you were looking at him, he'd seem like a happy, active, normal 2 year old. These thoughts, and feelings have been simmering for a while.
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