157 days ago, I received a phone call that will change my life forever.
In the last 157 days, I had to come to terms with the fact that I had breast cancer. I had to tell my husband, my children, my family. I have felt a level of fear that you only read about in stories and you can’t relate to because it’s so primal and deep.
I have offered my body to surgeons to remove parts of me that I thought made me female. I have laid on an operating table and handed my life over to them to take away something that was trying to kill me.
We thought we were done after the surgery, free to re-start this new life with uncertainty and minor relief, only to be confronted with a scarier reality of the type of cancer I had and the words “chemo”.
I have sat in a chair 4 times and allowed them to insert a needle into the port in my chest and slowly drip, drip, drip, poison into my veins. I have slipped on iced booties and mittens that were so cold they hurt. I have looked around a room full of people, just like me, trying to live their lives the best way they can.
I have seen the concern in my children’s eyes. I have felt the sadness of watching them navigate this journey and knowing that there is little I can do to make it better, because cancer sucks and you can’t fix that level of suck.
I had to see my grandmother for the last time. She doesn’t remember things like she used to, and the trauma of my cancer would be something that would be repeated over and over and over again, and in the grand scheme of things, the pain that would inflict was to much. She doesn’t remember my last visit. She knows I love her. She is proud of me even without this knowledge.
I have seen the exhaustion in my husband’s face, his body. Trying so hard to keep the whole world together with duct tape and super glue. When he reached the stage of running out of the tools needed to care for me, the children, himself, dealing with a work place he has given 17 years to treat him like he was trying to take advantage of them.
And through all of this, we have drank the lemonade.
I have felt deep love. I have had random text messages, and surprise meals (and sooooo many cookies). I have had boob parties and porch dinners. I have had dinner and forgiveness. I have “I love yous” and support and I have laughed. I have laughed so hard, and so often. In a weird way, I don’t believe I have ever been this happy before. Weird kind of dynamic.
To everyone who has been here over the last 157 days, or even 30 days, thank you. Thank you from the very bottom of my soul. I can’t imagine how lonely it would have been without you.
I don’t know what the future holds. It’s still scary, and thought the chemo is over, the “cancer” isn’t. There is no graduating out of this club. I will live with the destruction that chemo has done to my body, going to physical and occupational therapy. Seeing my oncologist every 3 months. Getting scans and tests for the next 5 years. Always living with a fear of recurrence.
I do know that coming out on this side of chemo, my life is better.
In the grand tapestry of existence, there are no accidents, only hidden threads of purpose weaving the fabric of our lives. And in retrospect, we find solace in knowing that we wouldn’t undo the past, for it is the intricate mosaic of our experiences that has shaped us into who we are today. – Love, me.