Perhaps I should provide a trigger warning. If you're a cancer survivor, you're probably accustomed to these feelings, or perhaps were, once upon a time. Trigger warning all the same.
I forced myself awake this morning. I was having a dream, one that on the surface seemed quite nice. A couple lovely ladies from my church were over playing with my son, helping him get his coat on. But there was an air of sadness about. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror of my dream, sitting in a wheelchair, scarf wrapped on my head, oxygen tubes in my nose, skin pale and grey. Dear Husband by my side.
I force myself awake because I know I cannot go there. I cannot bear the thought of others getting my son ready for church because I am not capable of doing it myself, because the cancer is back, and I am too ill. However, I know it’s already too late. The seed has been planted and is bound to grow before I can extinguish it.
I cry, quietly at first, but then needing the arms of my husband,
for him to tell me it will be ok, even while I argue with him that we do not
know that. He tells me that if it ever were to happen, we would fight it, hard,
together. And we would, but I do not want to. The last thing I want is for my
son to have a sick mom, or no mom at all. I know the statistics are not in my favour if there were a recurrence.
Dear Husband leaves for work because he must. He’ll check in
numerous times though.
Now I really cry; I sob, and I worry myself till I’m
physically sick. I think of all the things that could be wrong. Casual meanderings,
the push and pull, the fight between rational and not, fear and Peace….
“That new lump I found in my breast last week. The doctor checked it right away and believes it to not be characteristic of cancer. He could be wrong. We’ll wait for the referral of the ultrasound and mammogram to be sure. Hopefully they call soon. Hopefully it's nothing. If I worry just the right amount everything will be fine. But if I acknowledge that everything could be fine, then it probably won’t be. Well, that’s just silly. Oh God, please don’t let it be cancer. Maybe it’s not in my breast at all, but somewhere else. Maybe both breast and somewhere else. Maybe multiple places. That sore rib I always have, it could be bone metastasis. But I had that checked out two or three years ago, that wasn’t it. If it was cancer, it would have spread by now. Well, perhaps it has. Sore back, that’s indicative of some kinds of cancer. And you do have a chronic cough. Yes, but I also am 42 and constantly am lifting a toddler, and I’ve had that cough for years, long before my last MRI, long before cancer. Sore shoulder, that’s new. But Dr. Google says it’s probably because I sleep on that side and am compressing a nerve. Google also says that rotator cuff metastasis is extremely rare. Rare, but not impossible. I should get it checked. I’m tired. Fatigue is a sign of cancer. But I stay up too late, get up too early, and spend precious hours of rest worrying instead of sleeping. It’s a vicious cycle. Plus, I do have a busy toddler. Lord, please don’t let it be cancer. I can’t bear the thought of my son not having his mom. I’ll be fine. My mom is fine and she had the same cancer as me and it’s been 20-something years. Yeah, but I also have dad’s genes and he definitely was not fine. Lord, let me be fine. What is that lump?”
And repeat, like a broken record that can’t be shut off.
But now the baby is awake, so I wash my face, brush my teeth
and push forward. Truth be told, I’m glad he’s up. I need to hug him as if my
life depended on it. Perhaps it kind of does.
Not every day is like this. Some days can even go by without
hardly a thought of cancer at all. Bad days are few and far between now,
but they still happen, even nearly 5 years later.
5 years. That’s supposed to be the magic number when my odds
of recurrence drop to almost nothing. Almost. We’re so close. Even though I know
the number is arbitrary and statistics aren’t a perfect science. I'm hoping at 5 years the bad days stop all-together.
"Lord, please, don’t let the cancer come back" is my mantra. Others
pray for peace for me. Not me. I pray and boldly ask for the cancer to stay
away. Right or wrong. Peace is great, and I need that too, but more than that I desire to stay
healthy. I pray for health, and the strength to be able to sing it is
well with my soul, to be able to accept whatever comes my way. I haven’t
reached that level of grace.
The day is just half done. The morning activities helped to push these thoughts to the background, but they linger. In an effort to bury them, I write them down while the baby naps. I’ve not really tried this before, but they say writing is supposed to be cathartic. Maybe there could also be a benefit to being raw and real, to letting others know what is really on my heart, instead of simply saying “I’m fine,” or sharing just a snippet of what I’m thinking. Maybe there's benefit to putting it out there for other survivors, just to say, "you're not alone."
So there it is…..
And it actually kind of did help.
If you are a cancer survivor, do you have terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days? How do you cope?
