The Big "C"
It's okay to talk about the cancer.
Life has a funny way of smacking you in the face when you least expect it.
And as much as I love irony, my most favorite is when you tell God your plans and he pats you on the head and says, “oh, bless your heart.”
After thirty-three years of dreaming and planning, my husband and I were just three weeks away from embarking on a lifetime adventure - spending six months taking our boat up and down the Intercoastal Waterway from Florida to Maine this past summer.
Then on April 9th, just two weeks before our journey was to begin, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
And just like that, the world shifted on its axis.
I only shared this with a handful of people.
In fact, I got the call from my doctor as I was stepping through our back door on the way to change clothes before returning to the boat for a sunset cruise with friends. They never knew.
My inner circle - those fierce friends and family members - did me the honor of talking about it directly and treating me the same as always - with tenderness, tough love, and wicked irreverence, just as I’d hoped.
By the time I reach my death bed someday, I’m counting on my true friends to walk in and say, “my God, you look like shit” right before putting Clinique’s Raspberry Glace on my lips so I don’t look dead in the coffin.
Being a victim is not my jam and this diagnosis certainly tested what I believe, that “everything gets better when you take charge.”
Were there moments I was kneeling on the shower floor praying through water and snot and tears? Hell yes, there were.
Or collapsing into my husband’s arms sobbing and babbling uncontrollably? Absolutely.
But they were not what was going to define my journey.
The Reframe
I tend to look at things through a lens of gratitude, growth, and goodness - my 3 Gs.
So I asked myself:
(1) In this moment, what are you grateful for?
The most incredible husband on the planet who let me make my own decisions and couldn’t care less about looks and scars. He said, “I just want whatever is attacking you to be gone.”
The world’s kindest sister who said all the right “wrong” things and helped me talk about my fears and laugh through the tears.
The most beautiful, brilliant, mighty young woman I am blessed to call daughter who was there when I was most frightened and embodied the strength I needed. She claimed “it’s all going to be okay” which allowed me to exhale and step into that belief when I was ready.
A matrix of rock-solid friends and family, excellent health care, and a deep faith that sustained me by trusting in God’s plan.
The revelation “for real” of who was in my amen corner with a few surprises, both good and bad.
The realization that we caught the cancer in an early stage and it was treatable.
(2) How are you growing through this?
Recognizing what is really not that important (so, so much).
Letting go of what everyone else thinks of me. Everyone.
Standing up for myself and refusing to let one bully physician scare me into a procedure I didn’t want. (Turned out I was right).
(3) What good is coming out of this?
A deeper faith, an even stronger marriage, and reconnection with many old friends.
A peace, calmness, and confidence I didn’t know was in me.
A renewed sense of freedom and reconnection with my inner “wild child” whom I have missed dearly.
The crazy realization that this has been a blessing - a wakeup call of sorts. A reawakening and a reminder that I’m not done yet.
So what happened?
My surgeon warned me that patients can get sad when they see their reflection in the mirror. Turns out, I actually like how I look. All I see are the battle scars of someone who is grateful for the gift of another day. And to her credit, my surgeon did a masterful job.
We did go on our boat trip. Six months, from May to November, with several cross-country trips back to the west coast for surgery, MRI mapping, and radiation.
We were all the way to Boston by the time all the procedures were done and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t distracted on that first part of the trip. In many ways, I feel like I missed a great deal of it.
It was a struggle to be “in the moment,” all the while knowing that being in that moment and making those memories was the most important thing I could do. I give myself a C+ with extra credit for establishing Topless Tuesdays and reading Jesus Calling.
Now what?
Well, that is the question, isn’t it? Forward sounds like a good direction.
A reset, refresh, renewal, and a whittling down of “unlived-lives” and “somedays.”
An honest look at the future, a slew of letting go, and the ever-present whisper to just “take charge.”