“Without leaps of imagination or dreaming, we lose the excitement of possibilities. Dreaming, after all is a form of planning”.
– Gloria Steinem
“You are a very healthy human.” – Zoe Weinstein, MD
672 days earlier, Dr. Weinstein’s words were quite the opposite as they were today. That late March day in 2016, I sat at my desk in my office full of hope and full of positive thoughts that the lump in my left breast was not in fact cancerous and was merely a benign fibroid. Zoe’s phone call that afternoon suddenly turned my world upside down. “You have cancer”. Three words that would, at the time, feel like anything but hope and positivity. It felt like I had been punched, all air forced out of my lungs, leaving me to sit at my desk with the door closed, alone and scared and uncontrollably crying. What I wouldn’t know that day, was that as bad as the call felt at the time, in a matter of 22 months, my world would come full circle. In less than two years time, it would be Zoe who would confirm I had Breast Cancer, and only two weeks later performing surgery to skillfully remove my tumors, making sure to obtain those ever important clear margins as she skillfully cut against my chest wall. It would then be Zoe who would, as she cautiously reviewed the images of my breasts fully displayed on the computer screen in front of her, declare that I was indeed a very healthy human. Six words this time; six words that would still take my breath away, but in a way that was released on purpose. A release that felt like letting go of the angst that I had been carrying; the fear that the cancer would come back as soon as the poison going through my veins and the radiation burning through my skin would end. But 415 days later, after the poison and the burning had ended, I was healthy. I had come full circle from hearing the words “you have cancer” to hearing “you are healthy”. This was my happy ending for this part of my journey in life. If things were to change in the future, it would be a new journey. With new challenges, new obstacles, new ways to stay strong, and new ways to stay motivated to overcome whatever that new challenge would be. But for now, this chapter had come to a close.
As I drove home from Zoe’s office, sun shining in my window and a smile on my face, and later as I sat alone at that same handmade wood table that would mark a 2016 Easter celebration filled with hidden fear for what the months to come would bring, I allowed those few tears to fall that had been falling sporadically throughout this journey. A journey in which I wasn’t sure there would be a happy ending. I knew that I was going to have to fight, and be strong and find a way to overcome all the obstacles that would be thrown my way. I couldn’t sit back and expect a happy ending to happen on it’s own. As I sat there, allowing all the feelings of fear and hope and gratitude all mix in together, I realized that maybe that’s part of the problem, we all expect a happy ending. A happy ending that we deserve by default; one that we believe we have earned, have fought for, have been patient for. But life is not always about happy endings. It’s about the battle fought, the lessons learned, and the memories made along the way. There is no life map that allows us to view the bumpy road starting at our day one, and ending on our final day. There will be some happy endings, but there will be a lot of endings we wish we could change; endings that we were able to prepare for, some that happen so quickly we can’t comprehend what actually took place. Endings that leave scars on our hearts for the rest of our days. But with those endings, come all of the memories that happened before. The hurdles jumped, the unknown strength unleashed, the people met, the compassion expanded for others, and all the events that led to our hearts being happy and smiles being wide.
A few weeks later, as 2017 came to a close, I sat and thought about the last year, and the approaching new year. Another end, with a new beginning. I realized that I tend to focus on what I haven’t accomplished rather then on what had been accomplished, and what the new year will bring. I realize that items on my to-do list have been left unmarked, and then I realize that they will still be there in the New Year, amongst the additional hundreds of to-do’s that will now become the to-do’s of 2018. The thing is, is that while bothersome and annoying, that list is often our guide to reaching our goals and without it we have nothing to attain; nothing to keep reaching to fulfill. Without goals, we never grow. We linger: mentally, physically, emotionally. We become unfulfilled, bored, lazy. As with sorrow, illness, loss, we have to have a mental list of to-do’s to allow ourselves to look forward to some type of growth; some sort of minimal accomplishment that will keep us pushing through to the next day. Our to-do’s should be balanced. They shouldn’t merely be a list of unrewarding, unfulfilling tasks. Our to-do’s should also inspire us, motivate us, push us forward just enough, knowing that once we cross them off we will have become a better, stronger, happier person.
As I thought about my own personal to-do list for 2018, I silently congratulated myself for scheduling my yearly exam with Julie. The same examination that two years earlier would mark my tumor being felt for the very first time. As much as I love her, and could very well owe her my life, I was left wondering if I really wanted to spend the second day of the New Year at the same place that brought so much fear. I knew the right answer, but denying the inevitable always feels easier. Like our to-do list, we put off the things that are the most difficult. If we ignore them for long enough, we can almost convince ourselves that they aren’t there; if we don’t address a problem, we can pretend in our minds that nothing is wrong. But with that way of thinking, we also often times leave conversations left unsaid, goals left unattained, doctor’s appointments left too long before scheduling. I sat and thought about how my inconsistent attempts to follow through and complete my own personal to-do’s could have played a part in my diagnosis and what could have ultimately led to an unhappy ending. What would I have done differently; and now knowing what the last two years have brought into my life, what would I do if Julie found another lump? If there was a magic ball I could look into, would I have wanted to know the fear, the pain, the emotional rollercoaster that 2016 brought? Would any one of us want to look into the future to see life’s sorrows prior to them happening? I realized that as great as it would be to look through the looking glass, allowing ourselves to better anticipate life’s challenges and be better prepared for grief, we would also lose so much. The magic of falling in love, the surprise of a first kiss; the excitement of being a mom or a dad for the first time, the happiness of hearing your child’s first belly laugh. Experiences of a lifetime that would fall short of amazing if we knew they were going to happen. The words of Garth Brooks’ The Dance quickly clouded my mind:
“And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I’d of had to miss the dance.”
I quickly began thinking how my love for music and its power to transform our mood and take us to a place we can feel the depths of our emotions has been a vice for me, aiding me in blocking out the fear at times and wallowing in the sadness at others. Taking me to a place where I can quickly go from feeling down, to dancing in my kitchen with full joy; turning a long solo car ride into a personal karaoke session. Last summer, a good friend sent me a link to listen to Kesha’s Praying. I listened to it on repeat for two weeks straight, always thinking of those who have battled any one of life’s circumstances and have come out stronger, with more confidence and the ability to take on more than they ever thought they could. The list of people grew every time I listened to it: former foster children who, with the utmost resilience, have made a life for themselves; friends who have had to say goodbye to those closest to them, while making it a priority to continue sharing and remembering that person’s legacy; those who have fought for someone they loved, and lost, but have found their new normal amongst the heartache of starting over. I remember as a moody teen sitting in my room, the sounds of Duran Duran, U2 and the Cure blaring out of my radio; posters and banners of the same groups hanging from my walls. I drifted off to tunes by the Rolling Stones, Vance Joy, Mumford & Sons, and Elle King during those countless hours spent in the big brown chair while I was getting my chemotherapy treatments. Later, the exchange of songs from Kings of Leon, Nathaniel Rateliff, Drake White, The White Buffalo, and Johnny Cash would serve as a pleasant transition between laying on that cold radiation table every day to hearing Sean or David yell out over the speakers to me not to move the slightest bit, before quickly adding that they were loving the song we had chosen for that day. The soft beats of Ella Fitzgerald, Francis and the Lights, Van Morrison and Citizen Cope have played over and over in the background as I have sat at my computer, struggling to find the right words to describe this journey over the last two years. A mix of Joan Jett, NF, AC/DC, Marion Hill, Eminem, and Michael Jackson have pushed me through work out after work out, transforming me to a place where the world disappears and it is just me, my headphones and the music getting me through one more rep, one more set, one more mile; taking me out of my comfort zone and pushing me to be stronger both mentally and physically.
Our vices, whatever they may be, allow us to get through the hard days so that we learn to appreciate and love the good ones. If we skipped over the bad days, if we skipped over the pain, if we skipped to the end to see if there is a happy ending, we would be skipping over all the memories from the day after the beginning, to the day before the end.
Since I was diagnosed with cancer, I’ve watched friends and family suffer over and over again. Loss of parents, grandparents, loved ones; I’ve watched them endure their own hardships and heartbreak, trials and tribulations . But, I’ve also watched each of them as they have slowly regained some sort of “new normal”. I’ve watched and listened as they’ve shared memories of loved ones; shared songs, quotes and pictures that have for that moment in time reconnected them with a loved one or provided a sense of release of whatever emotion they were feeling at that time. I’ve watched in awe as they have found an inner strength they never knew existed; bravely navigating life after a life altering event. And I have watched as they have leaned on friends, family, and loved ones just as I have leaned on all of you. Together, we can do anything. We can carry pain and sorrow, while at the same time provide compassion and empathy and love. We can help each other reach our new normal, not by forgetting what got us here, but instead using it to make us stronger one day at a time.
My mom, who has provided me with more strength then I could ever hope for, sent me a card recently. If I could personally deliver this message to every one of you reading this, I would. It said:
“Never forget (not even for one second) you are amazing. You have incredible strength, talent and optimism. That’s why I never doubt (not even for one second) that you can do absolutely anything.”
A year after my diagnosis, someone referred to my cancer as a “just a blip on my radar”, adding that it probably felt like it had never happened. In a very small way, she was right. It was a blip; a hurdle that was jumped over. And there are some days that I am able to look back and wonder if it all actually happened, or if it was just a bad dream. But anyone who has ever endured anything that has made us question our faith, driven us to heartbreak or scared us so badly we prayed to a higher being that we would never do anything wrong again in order to prevent continued hardship, knows that whatever that was, was much more than a “blip” on our life’s journey. It has changed us; in both good ways and bad. It has challenged us; made us cry in agony and shout out in pain. But those blips, those hurdles we have to climb over to find peace, are what link us all together and provide us the strength to feel compassion for others. Our journeys, our hardships, being defeated, and everything we have conquered. They all allow us to feel, and they remind us that we are not alone. They don’t discriminate; they don’t pick and choose. They are meant for each of us, and while they may not all have a positive ending, they are sure to teach us a lesson. A lesson about compassion, lessons about pushing through and overcoming obstacles no matter how difficult, and lessons about who we really are as individual people and what we really want out of this life we only get one shot at. Those blips, no matter how big or small, are ours. We own them and we have every right to hold on to the fear and pain, the same fear and pain that may very well never go away.
My blips over the past year have brought me fear, a sense of loss, concerns for my family’s future. But, just like the annual April rain helps my beautiful purple lilac bush bloom, these blips have also brought me new beginnings. They have brought me love, courage, strength, protection, motivation, compassion, inspiration, clarity, and new friendships and experiences. They have allowed me to share my journey with others, which in turn has given something cold and dark new light and hope. It has given me an outlet to express fear with others; fear that can eventually be turned into the very thing that makes us stronger. After all, it is our blips on our life’s radar that can change us for the better.
While writing the final chapter of my journey, often finding it hard to sum up everything I have written about over the last two years, I received a text from my dear Kelly. My dear Kelly who has survived much more than just her cancer diagnosis, but also being a single mom raising a wonderful young gentlemen, and now caring for her parents, both of whom are undergoing their own health journeys.
“Just came out of the waiting room bathroom. Went in there to hide for a few minutes so Mom wouldn’t feel my anxiety. After splashing water on my face, I️ grew more anxious seeing the person looking back at me. The mirror is not kind today. I️ hate my new found wrinkles. I️ hate my uneven eyebrows and over processed short hair. I️ feel like a boy. Alarms going off right now. Repeating code blue to cat scan. Thankful dad is in OR. Snap out of it Kelly. Feeling guilty my physical appearance is even a thought. Sitting back down next to Mom. Finding strength in one of your many writings I️ carry with me.”
As I sat an hour away from my dear friend, with tears in my eyes wishing I could reach in through the phone and squeeze her into seeing the beauty and love and strength I see in her, I realize that the strength we give others is as important as the strength we receive. I realize the importance in remembering that there is no expiration date on grief or trauma. There is no standard measurement set to say my grief or trauma is better or worse than yours. We each need time to heal, time to grieve, time to be anxious, time to be sad, time to be angry. Eight years later we are still grieving my niece becoming an angel. Three years later we are still grieving my grandmothers passing. Two years later I am still dealing with the trauma of cancer. Many of our days are spent missing someone or wishing things were different. But as each day passes, we splash a little water on our face and we get stronger. We jump over our hurdles, we push through the blips and we survive one more day. We trudge through mud in the spring that eventually brings us beautiful flowers. We burn ourselves from the sun in the summer, only to later have a healthy glow we yearn for in the colder months. Brown, orange, yellow, and red fall leaves descend from the tallest trees standing high above us, protecting us from our worries, and fears. We skate our way through the winter, falling sometimes on the ice and pulling ourselves back up to see the beauty in the snow covered trees. The snow eventually melts and we find ourselves starting over; feeling refreshed and welcoming the new spring air. A new year to bring us fresh starts and new beginnings; a new season to bring us our new normal. As with everything, there is happiness and there is sadness. Things end, only to begin again.