Looking Back, Looking Forward

I remember the day that my world stopped. I had been feeling pain in my lower abdomen for months. Barely noticeable at first. Then it grew steadily. And the fatigue. Rock climbing became harder to recover from. Cycling was getting tough. I went to the gynecologist thinking it was female problems. After an ultrasound, and a couple doctor's visits, I ended up with a misdiagnosis of pelvic inflammatory disease. Even though all tests were negative for it. Three different antibiotics and another couple doctor's visits later, I ended up going to the emergency room in excruciating pain after a long day at work. It was there that they told me it wasn't PID. They sent me in for a CT scan. And I waited. Laying in that hospital bed, I had no idea what was about to happen. They had given me medication that only dulled the pain slightly. Then the doctor and a nurse walked in. He sat down and looked at me seriously and said, "We found some spots in your CT scan that are indicative of certain types of cancer. We're going to admit you. Do you have any questions?"

I looked at him dumbfounded and said, "I have cancer?" And I paused. " That means a biopsy, right?"

He said, " Yes." And I just stared at him. I felt my entire being grind to a halt. I couldn't think much less talk after hearing that one word. I was reeling. Having been a hairdresser for 25 years and helping several of my clients with hair loss due to chemotherapy, I only had a small idea what I was in for, but it shook me to my core.

"Any other questions?"

All I could say was, "No. " and then went silent.

Having cancer has been the most cathartic thing I've ever had to endure. There is a sorrow that permeates my being and a hope that pierces through it. In the beginning it was all sorrow and fear. The prognosis was so grim. I could read it on the faces of my caregivers. The immediate reaction to my diagnosis when I was told of my first PET scan was difficult to comprehend. She emptied my hospital room so she could tell me alone. She told me that I was stage 4 and that it had spread through my colon to my liver, lungs, and spine. She spoke for a while. The entire time I felt like I was in someone else's dream. Or nightmare. She asked me if I had questions. I asked her what my time prognosis was. She didn't want to speak of it, but I insisted.  

She said," If we do nothing, 6 months. If we do everything we know how to do, 2 years." 

My family & I in Europe 3 weeks before my diagnosis

She ensured me that these are just statistics. That my case could be different. But when I heard it, the floor fell out beneath me. This wasn't really happening, was it? But it was. She gave me a stone that said "miracles happen". It seemed so trite. And all I could think of was my poor parents. How can this be happening to my family? This can't happen to them.

But it was happening. All I could do was go along for the ride. This is how it all began. They put me on serious pain killers for months to cope with the impermeable pain. Until I finally had had enough. They warned me against coming off of them too soon, but the numbing of my brain was too much for me. I needed to wake up.

Coming off of morphine was amazing. I had been living in a drug fog for 5 months. I needed it in the beginning. Badly. But slowly the pain lessened as the chemotherapy worked. And finally I couldn't stand being dulled any longer.  I initially tried to quit cold turkey. Three separate times. It was horrible. It made me realize how physically addicted I had become. It threw me into a serious depression. I couldn't get out of bed. I was constantly exhausted. I slept for what seemed like forever. And when I was awake, I cried. It was the pain doctors at MD Anderson that gave me the formula to ween myself off. It took 6 days. And it worked! I'm now awake in a way that I haven't been for months. And this is also hard. I am aware. And it's frustrating. My body is weak. My brain is active. It's hard to keep up.

There is a beauty to a life well lived.  And I miss that beauty. I long for the days when my biggest worry was how I was going to see all the concerts I wanted to go to. I miss socializing. Seeing my friends regularly was key to being happy. I miss dating. I miss the rush of a new romance. Now I know the loss of intimacy and the hope that it brings. I miss driving my car. It sits in a driveway getting dirtier by the day mocking my current existence. My impatience is constant. I sometimes wonder how I'll get my life back. Can I just step back into my life pre-cancer? How long will it take? When will I have the strength to accomplish what was normal for me before? Can I still have the career I've worked so hard to establish? I have wondered how I'll ever be intimate with someone again. How do I explain the port in my chest? Will that make a difference? Most likely it won't matter. But it's funny how the mind works. Dissecting every little thing. These every day things don't seem like much to worry about, but when they're gone, I am incomplete. 

I no longer fear death in the immediate future. Each scan of my body continues to improve. Slowly. With time I'm finding that my personality is returning. Being a smartass has always been a fun way to be me. And it's coming back. Slowly, bits of me are reminding me of their existence.  Little by little. Cancer isn't winning. I won't let it. It's a daily battle. And it's exhausting being strong all the time. Being sick is one of the loneliest, most difficult things I've ever had to do. Even though I'm surrounded by love. Sometimes I retreat into the darkness of sleep for a short reprieve in order to maintain my strength. To fight another day. Not to give up, but to build myself up. Because sometimes the ick is just too much.

It's an interesting thing to have your mortality shown to you.  We don't often think about it. We go along every day blissfully unaware. What a wonderful place to be. Though this trial by fire has taught me to be grateful, to be aware of this beautiful thing called life. To not take for granted the simple things that make every day, every moment incredible and awe worthy. I feel more deeply, I see in vivid color, music is emotion, and we are all precious. The life I knew before my world stopped is so far from my reach that I don't know if I'll ever be back there again. Though I know there is magic on the other side. And I'll learn to make it mine again. So much has changed. My perception of this gift of life is forever altered. The things I knew to be my existence were only a fleeting moment in a larger picture and not mine to keep, but only to acknowledge and appreciate. The memories I'll hold dear, but all of it is just a dream masquerading as reality. Which makes it all the more beloved. And I am filled with the wonder of it all. Why is not a question I entertain any longer. The question is how. And the answer is determination and appreciation. For this world we hold so dear to us is worth everything to hold on to. And I am thankful.




'The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at a time of challenge and controversy" - Dr. Martin Luther King