The Journey Home

I have lived in a place of peace and hopefulness during this time in my life. I most recently found myself expressing empathy toward a government leader who recently was hospitalized with cancer, not telling anyone including the President. Granted, being that this person was in an official position, the news was believed to have been necessarily shared and it was withheld. My response to the news report was an immediate, “maybe this person didn’t want to share their cancer diagnosis, they wanted to keep it private at the time as they hadn’t had time to even digest it before their surgery. I know I didn’t want to share, only with my immediate family. I still haven’t had time to digest it and I’m further out. Did they ever think of that?!”

Of course this led me to take a breath and really sit with what I just blurted out. I held my cancer diagnosis, along with my feelings, thoughts and emotions, close. Only my husband, parents and brothers knew of my cancer, along with my manager and director, for several months. They were told not to share. The fact that they held this close made me realize how trustworthy they were and how much they respected my wishes at that time. I don’t have a job where I am in the greater public eye, a government official or celebrity, but I do have a very public job. Offering care to others and continuing in that way was very important to me. Also for those in my care not to feel they needed to care for me. I was able to choose when I shared and with whom. I shared more publicly in December when I had a date for surgery. I had some individuals feel hurt because I didn’t share my news earlier but that was just it. It was MY news. This was MY body. I had the cancer and I had the power to choose who, when and where I shared it. I found myself fully living in my agency and for that I am grateful. Whether this official had the choice or not, I can empathize with someone who recently was diagnosed with cancer and the shock, awareness of mortality, processing, digestion, and questions, all the things in a quick moment of time. Let someone who gets a cancer diagnosis breathe. Give them space to do what they feel is right for them, after all this is their life, not yours. It may affect you but it affects them greater. They will reach out when it’s right for them. Trust that.

That’s not what I was going to say in this post, but it was obviously something on the forefront of my brain. I wanted to take the time to name the hard parts of this journey, my grumblings as it were. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows even though I do celebrate being cancer free. I am deeply grateful for my medical team, for those that have supported me with prayers, food, items of comfort and necessity, calls, texts, cards, and my mom and husband who have spent many hours helping me change bandages, strip drains, get a shower and wash my hair, taking care of the dogs and my daughter. With all honesty, though, at this moment this process sucks.

Yesterday was a hard day. I’ve been able to acknowledge my feelings and frustrations when they come and shift my thoughts and feelings from mild despair to hopefulness. However, right now I am irritable and tired.

I’m tired of sleeping in a recliner or on a wedge in the bed. I can’t get comfortable anymore and I honestly just want to sleep on my side. Back sleeping is hard and sleeping 1/4 sitting up sucks. (Funny story: a week in I almost fell out of the recliner trying to turn over on my side in the middle of the night. I woke up right before I was to tumble over!)

I am tired of feeling heaviness and discomfort in my chest. I’m ready for it to stop hurting and feeling so tight. I can’t ignore it as easily as before.

I am tired of having to deal with these drains. I only have two left but looks like I’ll continue with them until next week due to the output. No matter how much I make myself sleep, rest and drink water, I can’t will my body to heal fast enough for me.

I am tired of being told I can’t do this, or lift that, or walk Lola. I understand why, but by golly, I miss my long walks and runs with my girl and being able to do the things I did before. I was not created to be a couch/bed person. I want to move my body. I know it will come in time but again not fast enough for me.

I’m tired of feeling like there’s a hulk wanting to burst out of my chest. The expansion and stretching has really affected me this week. Stretching skin is painful and I’m ready for it all to be over but I know I have months to go and years to fully heal.

I’m tired of someone always being around me. I know my family wants to help and I’m grateful for them. However, I want time to be alone. I want my space. I need my space.

I’m also tired of feeling lonely. Going through and being treated for cancer, in my experience, is lonely. Even when so many are present around me, it’s still lonely. I hold onto knowing I’m not alone, as others who have survived cancer have reached out, but certain moments in time feel lonely and isolating.

I just want to grumble and be unhappy in this moment and that’s ok. Patience is not my virtue and has always been a struggle for me. I’m trying to just be and not do and it’s a growing edge for me. I know there is learning in this. I am open to the teachable moments much of the time, and I am human. In my humanness the last couple of days have sucked. Cancer is messy. Diagnosis sucks. Surgery is not fun. Recovery is messy and hurts. Reconstruction is painful and hard. Instead of cleaning it all up, I’m going to let it be messy, painful, annoying and suck. I can be deeply grateful and hopeful and feel irritable and annoyed. Today, that’s where I am. Tomorrow, next week, may be different. I’m going to be where I am today because that’s exactly where I need to be, at least that’s what I tell my patients and I believe it’s true.