Life is one big winding road. It has twists and turns, blind spots, curves, and unknown destinations.
You don’t always know which road life will take you on. You can plan your trip using the most up-to-date maps, but inevitably there will come a time when you will have to yield to diversions that will take you off course. Living with cancer is like this.
In your lifetime, there will be many people who will join you in your travels. The people you meet along the way form life’s intersections. They make the trip interesting.
Family members are the lifelong travelers who are with you throughout your journey. They’re there as your life’s road climbs up and down, through hills and valleys. They follow the curves on the road and stay with you when you hit an obstacle. They help you to maneuver through the blind spots of life until you reach your final destination. They are the steadfast travelers.
There are travelers who stay with you for awhile. They leave when there is a detour. They are unprepared to stray off course on a trip that needs to be changed. They believe they’ve served their purpose on your life’s trip and leave feeling they no longer have anything to offer. They are the weary travelers.
Some of the travelers use caution in their travels with you. They want the road you’re traveling on to go straight through. They approach life’s intersections with you seeing if they should “stop” or “go.” They use “caution” before they proceed. They are the fair weather travelers.
The light travelers are the most interesting ones in this cancer journey. They carry only the necessities with them to cross over the bridge to the other side. They know what is important to pack on life’s journey with you. They are your dear friends. They are prepared to travel on life’s bridges many times with you. They are the flexible travelers.
Cancer is trying to place stop signs on the road in my life’s journey. The people traveling with me won’t let it. I continue to drive on this bumpy road with Strength, Courage and Determination.
The radio alarms go off. The sun peeks from behind the clouds to open the day with brightness and warmth as it cascades its rays around us. A new day arises in our household.
Hubby and daughter are waking up to greet the day to get ready for work. They’re up before I am. I used to be the first one up to awaken the household from its sleepy stupor.
Now, work isn’t part of my world and won’t be for some time, if ever. It doesn’t matter what time I get up.
It’s interesting how a cancer diagnosis changes the order of things. How a cancer diagnosis changes your world. How a cancer diagnosis changes your life. How a cancer diagnosis changes the lives of others.
Life resumes for all of us, but it’s different now and will forever be since cancer entered our world. The “normal” days of the past, and the routines of yesterday are somewhat the same for my husband, daughter, and son who lives away from home.
They go through their days, similar to what they did in the past. Their work demands that they be in top shape, so they “mentally park” their thoughts about living in a cancer family to get their daily jobs done.
I no longer have a daily “normal.” Life has resumed, but it is different for me. I can’t mentally park living with cancer. I live with cancer.
I miss the daily routine and predictability of showing up for work. I miss mentally organizing my workday while puttering in the kitchen to prepare my lunch. I miss the social interaction that naturally forms part of the workday. I miss the satisfaction of solving problems at work.
I am continually learning new lessons about living daily with a life-threatening disease.
I am adjusting to being a prisoner in my own home, to being held hostage by a life-threatening disease. The surgery recovery is slow and disallows me from driving temporarily until I am strong enough to physically handle steering a car safely. I am adjusting to being lonely while living with the silence of a quiet daytime household in which I am its lone inhabitant.
Cancer Fighter--My New Job
I have a new job now, that of cancer fighter. I didn’t need to apply for it. There were no competitors vying for it. It was given to me without contest. There was training for the position.
This new job sees me spending my days battling a life threatening disease that attacks my body, shakes my spirit, and challenges me to stay positive. I am up for the task of tackling this new job just as I have been with all of the others that have shaped my life.
My boss is cancer. It’s a demanding and unkind boss. It requires me to put in the most effort I have ever had to do to get the job done. My performance review is still several months away to see if I’ve accomplished all of the goals and objectives needed to win the fight against cancer.
Fortunately, I have dozens of Warrior Women of The Amazon Tribe and Action Heroes who check in with me regularly to make sure I continue to heal in body, mind, and spirit. They ensure that I’m doing my best to fight cancer.
A retired boss of mind of some years back, for whom I still hold much fondness, is a cancer survivor. He entered a comment on this blog a few days ago.
"Here is something to think about,” he offered. “Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain." Thanks boss, you always had a way of reaching out and touching my life in ways that make me think!
He and my other cancer survivor friends continue to instruct me in the ways of living with cancer. They are wise teachers and sages who are traveling with me on this cancer journey. Because of them, I will remember to not wait for the storms to pass.
I am learning to dance in the rain. I do so with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
During these past few weeks, a new “Book of Gratitude” in my life has been opened very wide on the chapter: “The Kindness of Others.” There are hundreds of contributors in this chapter. Each of them is unique in the ways in which they are contributing to my life’s journey. They are worth writing about.
The new book’s contributors are family, friends, colleagues past and present, and acquaintances. They are the glue that binds the “Book of Gratitude” for me. Some are “originals” in family and longtime friends. Others are “newer reproductions” in colleagues and acquaintances. All of them are “special editions” in my life.
The contributors send flowers and gift baskets. They write emails. They send cards. They give me food for thought with gifts of books to keep my mind engaged. They read this blog. They’ve picked me as a person to honor in a “Challenge for Life” 20K cancer care fundraising walk this June.
They call me at home during the day while my family is at work to ensure that the silence of being alone while recovering gets interrupted with warm words. They visit to cheer me up, making sure my spirits stay high. They come by and tidy up the house, do laundry, and run errands while I am housebound. They make meals. They offer prayers.
I am surrounded by love and care from so many. I am grateful daily for these gifts of people who are making my journey in living with cancer easier to travel.
These contributors are helping me to re-read the old stories of my life. They are helping me to archive the rich history that has been written in 50 years of living. These contributors are also helping me to write new chapters in living day-to-day with cancer.
One of my favorite singers as a young adult was Harry Chapin because of his ability to tell stories about everyday topics using vivid pictures. A particular melody of his, “ Let Time Go Lightly”, resonates with me today as I muse about the kinds of friends that are surrounding me in this journey.
“Old friends, they mean much more to me than the new friends, ‘cause they can see where you are, and they know where you've been.” These folks—family and lifetime friends, have been present to help me write the pages in my life as I started new chapters and completed others.
They’ve been with me penciling in the rough drafts, writing my life’s story, and creating the headlines. They are the “dictionaries of my past” as they help me to look into the archives of my life to see who I have become as daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend, colleague, and acquaintance.
The newer friends, colleagues, and acquaintances look at the finished pages of my life, and accept me for who I am. They are more recent travelers in my life’s journey. They are helping me to write new chapters in my life as “content contributors.” Our friendship stories are rich in the words. There is comfort in the new chapters that we are penning together.
There are not enough words to express my gratitude to all of these friends. It is for them that I live each day with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
Recovery from breast cancer surgery is supposed to be a resting time.
I have never been good at resting. Napping is a foreign concept to me. As a full time working mom of 25 years, sleep was a luxury as I juggled kids, career, household chores, and volunteering.
My “Type A” personality wrestles with rest. It’s been hard to stop suddenly with the arrival of a cancer diagnosis and the need to slow down, to focus on taking care of me. It’s akin to a speeding train going downhill and hitting a brick wall with full force to stop. With cancer, you have to stop. There is no choice, and it’s sudden and unexpected.
Recovery from surgery is a struggle. Living with cancer always plays on your mind. I am restless mentally. I am restless emotionally. Most of all, I am restless physically.
I can’t find a comfortable position to sleep in. I can’t lie on the side in which I had surgery because it’s too weak to put pressure on to raise myself out of bed. I am afraid of putting pressure on the sutured-in drainage tube and dislodging it. I can lie flat on the side opposite to my surgery but my surgery-affected arm can’t find a comfortable position without putting pressure on the operation site. Lying on my back only works for a short period of time before it gets sore.
Consequently, I have become very familiar with the multiple positions a recliner in our living room offers for comfort. It is my sleeping spot since coming home from the hospital.
The recliner isn’t exactly comfortable. I’d gladly swap it for a bed if I could. Legs from my 5’ 10” frame are too long so they hang over, lose circulation, and cause my feet to get cold. But at least the chair reclines. The recliner gives me a number of options to switch to when I my body gets sore from staying still for several hours each day, a requirement of resting, recuperating, and recovery (R x 3).
My breast cancer surgery nurse says it’s not uncommon to have aches and twinges of pain that come with healing. The drainage pulls and pinches. It’s unsightly. The stitches itch. My chest, back muscles, arms and spine are sore from having to stay still with arms stretched wide open during 1.5 hours of surgery. My hands and feet can still get numbing cold as they did in the hospital, their reaction to the trauma my body has undergone to remove cancer.
On good sleep nights, which are 4-5 hours for me, I wake up somewhat rested. I have more energy on those days and roll with the recovery punches better. On days when I have not rested well (sadly there are more of these than the other), I feel tired and less equipped to bounce back. The world feels a bit bluer on those days.
The lessons in resting come at a time in my life when they’re needed the most. They instruct me in learning how to take care of myself. I have so much to learn. R x 3 dictate it must be so.
Cancer continues to teach me more subjects in the school of life. As long as I live with cancer, I will be a life long student.
I study on with Strength, Courage, and Determination.