I had a rough day yesterday morning. I awoke after excessively choppy sleep due to the Littlest’s demands through the wee small hours of the morning. From 1 am on, if he wasn’t calling for daddy, he was calling for mommy and I half-asleepedly made several trips from my side of the bed to the side of his pack n play. The sleep of a two and half year old makes one adjust to actually getting sleep so unlike the newborn nursing haze of slumber, the hubs and I were both more unrested than we should be upon morning’s first light. And in my current state of life — just 3 months post-completion of the 1-2-3 punch of Chemo+Double Mastectomy+Rads — lack of sleep seems to lead to anxiety.
I could tell right away. My mind was racing. Racing with thoughts of a sore neck. A sore rib. That spot in my back that seems to nudge quietly at me when stress comes about. And that chat. That chat with one of the Survivors. One of the Thrivers. One of the families at the retreat. That it had come back.
I don’t even want to say the word. But I do. Cancer.
My oncologist told me to live life now as if I never had cancer before. And I love him. I love his advice. I know why he tells me that. Because stress is the devil on your shoulder. And stress can cause the body to go crazy.
So live. Live. I tell myself daily… Live like you don’t have cancer because TODAY you DON’T have cancer.
And I texted my therapist. I texted my nurse navigator. And I settled. I settled knowing that my story is mine. No one else in the world has lived in my shoes. Walked my life. Just as no one has in yours. So while I think it is important… perhaps, even crucial… to let everyone’s story you meet become a part of you… it is also crucial to remember, “their story is not mine.”
Just because one person’s cancer recurred has no bearing on my cancer returning. And even if mine does, someday return, it is not here now.
And so. I was able to thrive. To mentally shut that thought down, “what if…”
We were able to enjoy the day.
…
I applied when I was done with it all. When all I wanted was the beach. The feeling that life was normal. The feeling that life could be different and normal.
I thought about the trip as time with the kids. Time with the hubs. Time for sun. Sand. Salt water. And sonshine.
I didn’t think about the others. Or at least, I didn’t think about the fact that we are all at different points. Different stages. Different mindsets.
But in a way, that may be the best part.
The house. It’s incredible. It’s perfect for our fivesome. The location. It’s easy and chill and relaxing and non-commercial. The VolunStars {the adorable name for the people who give up a week to come make our lives so easy… loving on my babies… serving us food… getting us from here to there… letting us unwind} are maybe the second best part… the people I feel drawn to. The boys… all four… I think… are loving time away from real life. The activities… from paddle boarding {which was amazing} to a ride-on ferry to eating dinner under the fish walls of the Aquarium to beach days. The meals — every. single. meal. covered. The snacks — free ice cream on the beach. The prayers before each meal that help me feel that God is in this, each step of the way. The smiles… one after another. And it’s only halfway through the week.
But perhaps the best part is hearing each person’s story and then getting past that and all thriving together. Not like kumbyah and hugging and joining hands. Like kicking ass on the paddle board. Smiling as we ate outside at Shagger Jacks. Loving time enjoying our families but knowing that each of us have been totally lucky to have received such a gift… to be here on this very day and soaking it up the way life is meant to be lived.
It was hard, at first, knowing that at least two of the women are metastatic. Because it was scary to me. UMMMMMMMMM… YEP. I just wrote that. It was scary to me {YES. I totally get how ironic that is}. But wow. But in just a short 48 hours I have realized that they are no different than me. They are thankful. Grateful. Happy to be alive and knowing that life is not guaranteed. They are LIVING. SURVIVING. THRIVING. No different than what I try to do every day. In fact, they might even be better at it because they wear the badge of thriving through an incurable diagnosis.
This week has reminded me… it has EDUCATED my heart that whether you are a VolunSTAR who has never had cancer, a child whose mother is battling the disease, a cured patient, a MetaSurvivor OR a ten year out survivor… we are alllllll just living in this world together trying to enjoy, love, live and learn.
I get to be here. I get to not be told my cancer is incurable. I get to believe that my cancer won’t come back… with a lot of confidence. I get. I get. I get.
And with that, I realized today that I MUST THRIVE MORE. I must find more ways for goodness. And for giving. I must find more people to read my words. I must put myself out there and talk about touching your boobs and knowing your body. I must. Because the women I’ve met with Stage 4 here are thriving. They are happy. And in love. And thanking God for each day. And are full of hope that science will keep up with their days.
It’s not going to be realistic to act like every day is a fairy tale. Life isn’t that way. It ebbs. It flows. Some days I’m gonna have a day. We all are. Some days I’m gonna feel lukewarm or sore or tired from the babies’ screams or the Middlest’s wishes or the Oldest’s expectations. Where motherhood is the shits. Some days are not going to be magical… in fact a lot of them are going to be mundane or normal or just a day. Some days are gonna feel like the best ever. And others are going to feel like the ones I’d rather have stayed in bed. But man, those are days that I get to be alive. I get to survive. I get to thrive. It doesn’t mean I have to change the world every day but I can sure allow the world to change me. And that’s a good position to be in.
And I had to write these words now because I know. I KNOW. I will go back to life. Back to reality. Back to “wash your sheets Wednesday” and Herceptin treatments and I will forget that I met the Mets crowd. Not because I want to… But because we forget how we feel on cation, we forget sometimes, the feeling that we had when something changes our life. And I don’t want to forget this. Them. The way that I now understand we are al just the same. I don’t want to forget that although it first made me crazy cakes, it later made me understand. Understand that life is about so much more than surviving. But when you find you are thriving… it is what comes when one is truly alive.
