I do try my best to always be positive, and look at all the good that has come as a result of the disease. And although I consider myself to be pretty well skilled in the positiving thinking arena, sometimes I just can't help but get angry. So as much as I try, I hate that cancer ever came into my life. I hate that it is still in my life. I hate that it doesn't give me a choice. (We were not allowed to say "hate" growing up in my house, but I believe this is the one time when it's truly warranted!)
Cancer is rude, intrusive, loud and disruptive. It doesn't care that we are good people. It doesn't care that we loved our lives the way they were. It doesn't care that it's not a good time for such chaos. It doesn't care that my mother has been about as good of a christian as one could possibly be. It still crashes the party and has long overstayed its welcome.
It tests your stamina. It tests your faith. It tests your relationships. It tests your mental fortitude. Many times we pass those tests, but sometimes we don't. Sometimes we just get tired of it all. It is a little unfair that we got hit with this disease in a double header fashion in my family (ok, maybe that is an understatement). We had less than two weeks between active treatment periods. That's hardly a break period! Trust me, it takes much longer than that to recover from the trauma that is cancer.
Forgive the negative emotions, but they are all a genuine part of this process. Cancer isn't pretty, and sometimes, I let its ugliness take over for a bit.
But this too shall pass.