My life can fluctuate between the two. Can one exist, however, without the other? I don’t think so. There is no reason to be brave when you’re not afraid.
People mention the word “scan.” Someone I know dies. There’s a twinge of discomfort under my left armpit. I have some trouble getting my breath. “You look great!” They say to me and totally mean well. Or, they come to me with well-meaning, concerned looks on their faces… “Oh, how are you doing?”
But sometimes, the fear is front and center. The cancer whispers, at times, yells, in my ear.
Sometimes, I actually forget about it. I never thought I would. I spent more than two years of my life trying to get it out of my way so I could look at what was behind it. But it kept staring me in the face, obscuring my vision. And, in turn, I stared at it. I didn’t see past it. Cancer was my life for two years.
Now, I sometimes forget. But I also don’t dare.
The first time it came, I was so devastated I couldn’t even say the word “cancer” for two months. Now, I say it freely. I am one of those people that literally tells people, “I have breast cancer.” I’m also not one of those people who doesn’t like to talk about it. And if you are, that’s totally okay. You do you. There is no judgment here. I totally understand that choice.
I think I talk about it because of the shit I went through before cancer. Cancer, compared to what went on before, was actually easy. It involved my physical self. Not my heart.
I am getting my master’s degree. Post-Cancer. Post a cancer that comes back, or never really goes away. Post hearing the sentence, “You’ll never be cancer free.” Post that. Post chemo. Post radiation. Post-surgery. Post more chemo. Post the most soul-searching time of my entire life.
What if I die before I get finished? What if it comes back? When will it come back? Those are all questions that nag at my psyche every day. I brush them off like dandruff on a black shirt, yet they congregate all the more. My life is the exercise of keeping those shoulders as clean as possible.
I imagine myself falling flat on my face just short of the PhD I’d like to attain. And, you know what? That would be okay. I’d rather die chasing something I feel strongly about than sitting here, waiting for death.
People used to tell me to fight. I think the real fight, for me, comes after. It’s in these moments of peace that I fight the hardest. That I live the hardest.
When cancer was with me, I had to just be. Endure the discomfort. Prepare my mind and soul for death, just in case. Keep moving forward. Keep saying, “What’s next?” That’s a fight, yes. But I was very aware that it was all out of my hands. And, I am still aware, the power does not lie with me. I am here by the grace of God. And I remain here by His grace.
Now, I fight. Cancer has made me chase my dreams. Cancer has made me lean into friendships. Tell people how I really feel. Read things that make me cry, bring me to my knees, give me chills. It’s grown, exponentially, an already strong sense of curiosity. It’s made me appreciate something as simple as picking the cap I want to wear that day.
I live. Hard. Sure, I’m in a position where I can’t go and travel and have as many adventures as I’d like, but I’m doing the very best I can. I am getting up, each day, exercising, trying to eat better, praying, reading, meditating.
I am fighting. Fighting to live. Fighting to be okay.
Some days, I don’t make it far. My fight looks like tears in my living room. My fight looks like watching the clock, waiting for bedtime, so I can put another day away.
Some days, I get to paddleboard at Barton Springs, and I feel a sense of belonging. Some days I laugh so hard I cry. Some days, I get peace in my heart many times throughout the day.
It is not just cancer that gives me fear. Trauma has a way of flipping switches that are so hard to get flipped back to the prior way of being. I think the solution might be a total rewiring. Putting on work gloves, getting the electrical plyers out, taking the cover off, and reworking the entire system.
Going through my worst time, I felt the switches flipping. Each word, phrase, mean action changing me, hurting me. Busting the wires I had had for so long. Fraying the ends. Knocking out bulbs.
I now have my work gloves on, electrical plyers in hand, working on rewiring myself. Divorce. Losing family, friends, church. Mean words. Fear. Anxiety. Depression. Feelings of low worth.
It’s a fight. Every day. Memories. Trauma. Pain. Cancer.
I fight. I live. I am afraid and I am brave.
As always, thank you so much for reading. I'd love to get my blog OUT. Please, if you don't mind, share this. Someone, somewhere, needs to hear these words. It will nestle in the heart of someone who desperately needs to hear it. Thank you for reading.
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