Vulnerability is not one-size-fits-all. And though it may be universal in that everyone has their stories of it, it is quite relative to the individual. Even if experiences are the “same” the experience of the experience is not.
I made an interesting correlation today about my own story of vulnerability with the help of a new friend. In sharing about my before-cancer self and the me now, she reflected this back to me: “It would seem as though the you of before found safety in the busy and in the plans.” While this may not seem that big of an a-ha moment, it brought some new clarity:
I thought I was busy before cancer for the sake of being busy and for the attainment of achievement and for the striving of structure because of the shame I believed existed when not being in constant pursuit. What I learned today is that I think I was motivated by ‘busy’ because it was safer than the vulnerability in the slow down. Exactly that which I’ve been writing so much about recently. The vulnerability inherent in the slow down and stop of the unknown. The depth of relationships, the investment that may return void, the vulnerability of really *really knowing someone or letting them really *really know me. The impression can’t be as controlled when the impression isn’t so controlled and the vulnerability in not having any control of the impression (me, in a plastic surgeon’s office, 4 other people in the room with me as I stand on display, literally naked —l i t e r a l l y— not one scrap of fabric covering anything with voids and ugly scars where body once was, with every.single.flaw uncovered, while everyone watches the surgeon touch, squeeze and shake in order to deem which fat is good and which fat is bad). For me, these things describe every bit the *inside* of the *intensity* of the word *vulnerability*…
Moving quickly from one thing to the next was safe. Not having “the time” was a great excuse to stay safe. And maintaining that pace consistently sure made it easy for me to then predict safe. But my gratitude runs deeeeeeeeeep for learning the value of vulnerability, hard as it is. Because as deep as the vulnerability is, so are the lessons of the unknown, the richness of the relationships and the freedom in the wild of the un-control.
What about for you? What are your habits of safety? What are your experiences of vulnerability? What has been gifted to you from courageously entering its depth?
*Post 904
The Plan – An Update :: 9/25/17 :: Post 27
- My scans were clear of metastatic disease. That is amazing and we are SO grateful for these results. My tentative plan is a lot less tentative and a lot more actionable.
- My CT scan did show a complex cyst on one of my ovaries that will need further evaluation. The oncologist has ordered an ultrasound to determine if it is of concern although she wasn’t thinking it was much to be worried about.
I am going to go take a walk with Chris and the dogs…my head is spinning. I have mixed emotions. I am immeasurably grateful and thoroughly frustrated and utterly scared and enormously relieved all at the same time. Oh, and I’m exhausted and it’s only Monday… I have so much more to think about, to write, to process…but I just want to go on a walk.
THANK YOU for praying. For being a part of our world. For holding us up. For loving us well. For walking with us.
Finding My Way :: 9/25/17 :: Post 28
I am so thankful that there is no evidence of metastatic disease in my body. I am grateful I can put my tentative plan into action. I am thrilled there is a prognosis that includes an 85-90% cure. I am overjoyed for the grace given to my family and all my people. I am relieved.
Satan better be scared because I’m not going anywhere….I’m just getting stronger. And so is my army. Shudder, devil. Shudder in your stupid little boots.
So, what comes next is not to distract from or minimize my heart’s gratitude or my spirit’s strength. No panic button, no thinking I’m not thankful, no thinking I’ve become the victim to cancer and I’m going to let it rule my life or my emotions… It’s not intended to deflate.
But I must acknowledge the other things in my heart. I must hear them and speak [write] them and give them value because they are a part of this entire experience. They are a part of me, my identity in this, my walking through it, my battle against it, and my defeat of it. They are authentic and real. And I will not ignore them for the safety in avoidance.
I am scared. I’m only on the first part of the bridge and not one moment of it has been easy. I have a lot of bridge left to walk. I have a lot of unknowns yet to navigate with only enough light on the next step ahead. Non-metastatic breast cancer is not “the easier” route. No, I don’t have evidence of metastasis. But I have a cyst on an ovary and a nodule on my lung that will have to have further testing or attention because nothing is definitive. No, I don’t have 26 rounds of chemo ahead of me. But I still have chemo. No, I don’t have cancer in my liver or colon or bones. But I still have cancer. No, I won’t die from cancer at 37 years old. But I still will live with this for the rest of my life in one way, shape or form.
I am exhausted. This road has been so hard. A friend said the word “blitzed” today when we talked on the phone. I noted it because it struck a chord in that moment of how I feel. Blind sighted. Freight-trained. Blitzed. My emotions have been mangled. My body has been through the ringer. 20 different medical procedures and/or consultations, 5 more this week, and chemo hasn’t even started, nor radiation or another surgery. 98% of those procedures never experienced before… all in the span of 8 weeks. And, UGH, the waiting in between. And even though I have a lot behind me, I have much ahead. So much. And my oncologist and I even talked today about the likelihood of a future hysterectomy for preventative measures once all of my treatment is done. So, while that is 1000 miles away, it’s a part of the story because I don’t want to be back here. EVER. Oh, and I found out today that since I’m pre-menopausal at time of diagnosis and treatment, I’ll get to go through menopause symptoms TWICE! They are a side effect of chemo and then I’ll get to go through them again when I actually have menopause. (this just keeps getting better!) *eye roll
I am frustrated. Today I was given results with a caveat. Again. Today I was told “I’m not concerned, but we have to have it checked out because we don’t know for sure.” Again. Well, see, I’ve heard that one before….at the very beginning of this journey…and yet here we are…. So far, I have yet to leave an appointment without more uncertainty, more “wait and see’s”, more tests to wait on, more results to receive, more this-before-that. This is such a hard place and I have just had to be in it so much. And I imagine there is more of that ahead, too…. (Here I will insert a HUGE dose of gratitude in that my doctors ARE being comprehensive…and quick…and things are caught because WOW, I had NO idea the killer on the inside was waging an unknown war).
I am consumed. More appointments were scheduled today. I now have at least one, if not two appointments every day this week. In addition to today’s appointment, tomorrow’s port install, Wednesday’s post-op, and Thursday’s physical therapy, we now have 3 other appointments to go to. On Thursday afternoon I have an echocardiogram scheduled to determine how my heart works so that we can be careful to take care of it throughout chemo. If at any point it gets stressed out, we put a pause on chemo to let my heart return to normal. On Friday at noon I have an ultrasound scheduled to determine if the cyst on my ovary is of concern. If it is…I don’t know what will happen. If it isn’t, then we will monitor it in case it does become a problem. Also on Friday afternoon we have my Chemo Class with the nurses we will be working closely with throughout my treatment. They will walk us through all of what chemo will be. This has been all-consuming in not just emotions and physically how my body feels, but geez. SO MANY APPOINTMENTS. And ohhhhhhhh sooooooooo many to come. And it’s really REALLY hard to find a new normal in this space. And going back to work…we will just have to be creative with that one.
I am apprehensive. I have my first chemo infusion appointment officially scheduled. Monday, October 9th at 9:40am is when I will take this next step on my bridge. The reality is hitting as it now holds a place on our calendars. For real. (Again, barring any complications with this ovary business). We also have the timeline that follows. By October 23rd, my hair will start falling out. By October 25th, it will all be gone. I tentatively now have an idea of when all of my “Chemo Days” and “Chemo Weeks” will be. And the unknowns ahead are enormous.
I have trained crisis intervention for years at Alternatives. We do this activity where I ask a group of adults, “If you woke up today (literally) and found out you were pregnant, what would come first – the fears or the joys?” We ask this because it helps us understand that in a crisis, the fears are often immediate, tenable and palpable. The joys can certainly be present, but usually they come later. They are sometimes recognized in the midst of the crisis but more often, they are more easily seen and understood “on the other side.”
There are joys in this. There are celebrations. There are mercies and oh so much grace. But the fears …. Immediate, tenable and palpable. No doubt.
Dumbfounding :: 9/25/18 :: Post 377
While in the intensity of treatment, everything is hard. It truly is can I make it to the next 5 minutes? hard.
On this side of things, where much of the hardest treatment is behind me, I am sometimes dumbfounded by what truly has transpired over the last year. Like, really? Cancer? My body has been through so much…..
And then I sit here and think about what lies ahead and that will be a whole different hard. Will a cough that lasts too long mean I have lung cancer? Will extreme fatigue mean a new oncologist? Will a new bruise scare the daylights out of me?
I dunno. It’s all dumbfoundingly hard.
Good News. Bad News. :: 9/25/19 :: Post 740
Good news – I saw my surgeon today and he loved my tattoo.
Bad news – It’s always difficult to stand naked in front of him as he assesses the quality of my fat.
Good news – My new job is super flexible and it’s really nice to experience that.
Bad news – My days are long and exhausting from work and volleyball and I don’t have a lot of time for self-care.
Good news – I can run a volleyball practice! With hitting and tossing and running around!
Bad news – I can hardly move tonight due to the physical energy it took to run a practice and that makes me sad.
Good news – My kid just talked my ear off for the last hour.
Bad news – Her heart is heavy and troubled. And that, too, makes me sad.
Thank you, Jesus, for being in both the good and the bad.