“This desert journey has made me weary but my heart is still slouched toward hope.” MHN
I love this statement by Morgan Harper Nichols. It fits so well into my present being. I’ve likened cancer and survivorship to a desert many times. A slog through thick sand where I don’t know progress because movement is unapparent as there isn’t even a cactus for a reference point; the footprints I’m currently standing in are my only discernible path; and every step taken is arduous because walking in deep sand requires relentless effort. Yup. The metaphor is exact and as she quotes, the experience is way past ‘tiring’ and is well into ‘weary.’
But in the weariness there is hope.
I’ve found it in my daily practice of reflecting and writing, a practice that is my anchor to the present. Hope resides in my reflection on where I’ve been. It shows up in all that I have learned and all that I continue to learn. It illuminates what is significant now…which proves the truth that my nowis purposed for my what’s next no matter my knowledge of it…which ultimately reminds me that I don’t need to know the full picture of where I’m going…because to focus on that would mean I’d miss out on now (and, well, I’m gonna get there anyways. Sometime).
Hope is ‘this’ matters. ‘This’ has purpose. ‘This’ is meant for something. ‘This’ isn’t wasted. But I wouldn’t know the depth of ‘this’ hope if not for my daily capturing of it. So, in honor of my 1000th post, I would encourage you to take time to capture your hope consistently. If everyday is overwhelming, do it weekly. If weekly is overwhelming, do it monthly. The point – write it. Type it. Draw it. Capture it. To capture is to ‘take into possession,’ to ‘depict completely,’ ‘to absorb.’
And there is no better time to create a new hope-filled practice than now.
*Post 1000
Make Me A Bird :: 12/26/17 :: Post 119
I told Chris today that I wanted to get outta town. Go on a vacation….a road trip…a plane ride to somewhere…. something “not here.”
What I really think I meant is that I want to escape the reality I’m in. I want to fast forward to February. I want to disappear from the throes of battle and have it be over.
Because what lies ahead is dreadful. And hard. And unwanted. And unknown. But also, known. Known enough to want to escape it. Known enough to wish it over.
I know my story could be worse. I know the story could be harder. But the reality is that it still sucks. I’m still battling microscopic disease. I’m still enduring through chemo…hoping it’s doing what it’s supposed to be doing but not really knowing. Trusting toxic chemicals are killing cancer in my bloodstream. Hoping for an outcome that will take years to know.
And with so much more ahead.
“Make me a bird so I can fly far, far away…”
A Difficult Coexistence :: 12/26/18 :: Post 470
Today was strange……
Another tension of the let down of the day after Christmas held together with the immense gratitude that can be a focus of the day after Christmas.
It was odd working today. I was back in the office after a week off due to surgery and the holiday. My head was a bit foggy. My body-tired. I even had to be especially focused while driving today cuz I took a week off of that, too. Not to mention I got to start my day on the other side of the city for a difficult post op appointment. More pictures. More evaluation of my naked body. More Nurse Sue. More internal conflict. My appearance shouldn’t matter…It’s only a temporary body….It’s only the outer shell – it’s what’s on the inside that matters more….They’re just boobs – no one’s are perfect anyways….Don’t be so vain…. But it does matter. And I wrestle with disappointment and discouragement. And I am sad. I wonder if my decision was the right one. I wonder if it’s at all worth it. I feel doubt and frustration and anger.
Today, while pictures were being taken, while I looked down and watched as Nurse Sue poked and prodded and cupped, my heart sank lower. I came to a difficult realization – my plastic surgeon is world renowned but he’s no God the Creator. I mean I always knew that, but today, that reality punched me in the face. My uneven, misshapen, man-made breasts (that literally look nothing like real ones), are only that. And we may be out of options. So, having a plastic surgeon rebuild breasts after a mastectomy………..is nothing NOTHING like a boob-job. This isn’t “the perk” of breast cancer. Getting “free lipo” and “new boobs” is NOT the silver lining.
Everything EVERYTHING about this is beyond hard. Like literally BEYOND hard. Imagine hard….and then go 167 more steps. And maybe put a few zero’s behind that.
Everyone asked me today how my Christmas was. No doubt, my Christmas was wonderful. Yet it was colored by all of this. I was sore and tired and beaten down by the mental and emotional trauma of cancer. This year certainly looked different than last, but the hard of cancer is a relentless beast. And while I hold all of this hell I also got to celebrate the 20th Anniversary of my first date with Chris. 20 years. TWENTY! And I’m forever grateful I’ve had the privilege of being his wife, the mother to his children, his companion on this really hard life road. Oh how I’m grateful he’s chosen me. Everyday.
The pain and the gratitude….a difficult coexistence.
Living Changed Head to Toe Day 26 :: 12/26/19 :: Post 834
I am definitely navigating the waters of depression. Some days I feel mostly even-tempered and despite managing constant pain, I even feel mostly positive. I smile often and it doesn’t feel forced…I can laugh and experience joy…I can acknowledge the good in many moments throughout the day…
But there are other days where I wrestle with the lowness of depression…where I am unmotivated to do much and where I just can’t seem to get out of my funk…where it just doesn’t matter what is going on around me, I sit on the verge of tears where the slightest of nudges pushes me into a freefall down a pit of sorrow.
Depression is such a strange phenomenon. I can call it out for what it is, I can name it, I can see it. I’m not in denial. I’m not pretending I’m fine. But no amount of reality or awareness ‘fixes’ depression. I find that I simply just have to accept that this is a part of my life, choose not to shame-spiral and trust that this, too, is temporary and not every day will feel like this. Thankfully I have learned the practice of calling out the good days just as authentically as the low ones.
I think that is how I am living changed. Right after I had each of my babies, I fell into a pretty significant postpartum depressive place…but the difference was that then, I was blind to it. I had no idea and I didn’t think I felt any different. As a matter of fact, if you would have asked me if I was depressed, I would have laughed at the idea of it. But talking to Chris and looking back (you know, hindsight….), I was definitely not myself and definitely struggling. Fast forward 10 years and give me a cancer diagnosis and I now know better how to feel deeply. Or maybe it’s less about knowing how to feel deeply and more about being able to discern ‘what’ I’m feeling deeply.
I am grateful that living changed means that I feel both the goodness of the highs and the depths of the lows. And I am grateful that I have a whole new understanding of faith and trust, now, too, because it turns out, both concepts go hand in hand.