The definition of the word "aftermath" is the consequences of a significant, unpleasant event. Two years ago this month I was declared cancer free. This has given me plenty of time to review the aftermath.
For the record, I will answer any cancery question you ask me. I will talk about every little detail if you want to know (and sometimes if you don't). But I have the hardest time talking about the aftermath. The life after cancer; a quite significant and unpleasant event. So I'm just going to dive on in.
Before cancer I knew exactly who I was. I was a fun, energetic teacher. Newlywed. Dependable. Reliable. Funny. Event planner. Photographer. Piano player. Crafter. Sewer, etc.
And then cancer.
I struggled teaching because I no longer had the energy to be the teacher I once was. I constantly felt like I was failing my students, coworkers, and myself.
I felt like I was failing John. I had zero energy to cook, clean, and tried so hard to be "present" in our marriage. He stood by me without hesitation and loved and supported me fiercely through the process. But I felt like I couldn't give back what was being given. And again, I felt guilty.
I couldn't be there for my friends as much as I used to or would have liked to be. I felt like I was failing them because again, they were giving so much to me, but what was I giving them?
I couldn't play the piano like I used to. Because of the mediport sewn into the right side of my chest, my arm would randomly go numb or limp in the middle of playing. Something that would bring me such joy now brought sadness and frustration.
I could go on, but you get the point.
So I adjusted to a new normal; a new identity. Instead of Mrs. Bragg, the teacher or Liz, wife and friend, or at church, Sister Bragg, the youth leader, I became the following: that bald teacher with cancer; Liz, our cancer friend (now in all fairness, I joked about that one and that's how I got the title); Sister Bragg, that woman at church with cancer.
How did I cope? I laughed. I made jokes. Laughing about cancer seemed so much easier than dealing with the emotions of it. But I jumped all in and figured I better make the best of it. So I accepted my new roles, my new titles, my new identity.
Then I was declared cancer free. I was so excited, relieved, and scared. My very next thought after "YES!!!!" was "Now what?" Our lives revolved so much around my doctor appointments, tests, scans, etc.; it was all we knew. It had become our normal. What would 'normal' look like now?
When people find out I am a cancer survivor, they always assume I had breast or ovarian cancer. This doesn't bother me at all. They are two very common cancers for women, and kind of like the flagship cancers for women. What does bother me is when they find out I didn't have either of those; I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma. And then they say, "Oh. Well...that's not really cancer, cancer. I mean, your life wasn't in danger." Or "Oh, so you were just like, really sick, right? That's one of those 'light' cancers? Like, not really cancer?" Or my favorite, "Well, thank goodness you had an easy cancer! It couldn't have been that bad."
This created a huge crack in my emotional mentality about cancer. I was rejected by some people in the cancer community because to them, I didn't have "a real cancer." After I was declared cancer free I was told by people at work/church/the grocery store that because I didn't have an "aggressive" or again, a "real" cancer that I would have no problem jumping right back into life as it was before and I needed to "get over it and get on with my life." All these people assumed that because my cancer was what it was, that I was fine. That I should be fine. That I was back to that horrible word of 'normal.'
My doctors kept talking about a new, new normal. How life would be different, never the same as before, but I'd be fine. But in the past two years I have been having a hard time finding my new, new normal, my new identity.
My initial reaction was Destiny's Child, "I'm a survivor!" Heck yeah, I battled cancer and LIVED! But there was that crack in my mentality. I was being rejected or scoffed at for not being cancery enough. So my survival didn't seem like such a big deal to me anymore. My attitude turned to, "Yay, we're done with that. Guess I should move on."
In the past couple of years as my body has adjusted to life after cancer, it has done some weird things. There have been more tests and scans because different things come up and given my history, my doctors take it seriously and act fast. Just this past February I was scanned and tested because my doctors had a legitimate concern that cancer had made a comeback. Thank goodness it was a no, but my first reaction of the possibility of it being cancer again was PEACE. I was legitimately at peace with the thought of having cancer again because I knew who I was when I had cancer. I knew that identity. I knew my role. The thought of "been there, done that," was comforting to me because maybe people wouldn't reject or judge me for having an easy cancer if it came back. I could be the cancer girl, again. I could go back to something I knew and accepted and lived through. But I was so unsure of the now.
I know that now I'm tired. I get weirdly sick. Again, my body does weird things and just like me, it's just trying to find its new place in the world. I have a hard time remembering things; more so than before. I don't remember half of the dates John and I went on before we were married. Sometimes I ask him to tell me a dating story, and he tells me about one of the dates we went on that I can't remember any more. He even has to remind me of some details about our wedding day. I'm recognizing that people get uncomfortable or tired of me talking about cancer. So I'm learning to not talk about it unless asked about it. And to those people who are tired of hearing about it, I apologize. To quote the beginning of my post, it was a significant and unpleasant event that has changed me. I'm having a hard time letting go of my past identity. Forgive me. I also know that I am different. A little harsher, but at the same time a little softer. I cry a lot at little things. I'm showing up more for my marriage and partnership with John. I'm showing up more for my students, and I'm trying to show up more for myself. I'm also learning some people don't like that, and are having a hard time accepting my new focus. That has rattled me as well. I have always prided myself on being a true Hufflepuff: a fierce and loyal friend. In this new effort to find myself, I am finding that I am losing people and that is heartbreaking to me.
So in this two year aftermath, I have come to the conclusion that I am under construction. Parts of me are finished, some parts of me need to be refined or done over, and other parts are still being demolished, planned, and rebuilt. For now, I just need to accept it and love myself for where I am. I need to recognize that I fought a battle and WON. Cancer, is cancer, is cancer. With the help of God and those around me, I gave my all and survived. I need to accept my survivorship (new word) and find my way through the aftermath.
Did you know there is a second definition for aftermath? In farming terms it means "new grass growing after mowing or harvest." Interesting. :)
Sunday, May 5, 2019
Monday, February 8, 2016
"To Whom It May Concern"
Within the same "You have cancer" breath, I also found out there would be a strong chance I would not be able to have children after chemotherapy. I had been married less than a year, and not only did I have to go home and tell my husband that every doctors' suspicions were true, but I also had to tell him that curing the truth could very likely take away our chance to have a family naturally.
The reality of the situation didn't really hit until a couple of months ago. John and I were walking through Target doing some shopping when we passed the section that has all of the UTSA, UT, and Texas A&M shirts and caps. Among them: baby onesies (sp?). I stopped, grabbed one of the UTSA onesies, commented on how cute it was, and put it back. That's when it hit. I started having flashes of our future family, of babies that were not yet to be, and who knows when they would be. I lost it. I started sobbing right there in the store. We ducked into an empty aisle, which is hard to find at Target, and John just held me and let me cry it out. We ended our shopping trip fairly quickly and went home.
Until that point I hadn't allowed myself to think about having kids since the diagnosis. Even though we were able to successfully complete fertility treatments and an egg extraction before starting chemo, I knew if I thought about it too much it would ruin me. I knew I would only be able to focus on what cancer was taking away from me, not what it was giving me and teaching me. I knew I would fall into a hole so deep, it would be hard to climb out. So I didn't think about it.
Now that the initial breakdown is over, every now and then I give myself permission to think about it, and it doesn't hurt as much any more. Instead of mourning a possible loss, I have hope. Whether it's children of our own, or whether it's children of our own by means of adoption, I know one day we'll be able to have a family.
The other day I was listening to Pandora and one of my favorite bands popped up with this song. If I did my research correctly, it's either a song to a future love, or a future child. Either way, my heart took it as a letter to a future child. It gave me so much comfort and so much hope. It definitely made my heart happy.
"I've missed you but I haven't met you
Oh how I want to
Dear whoever you might be
I'm still waiting patiently"
The reality of the situation didn't really hit until a couple of months ago. John and I were walking through Target doing some shopping when we passed the section that has all of the UTSA, UT, and Texas A&M shirts and caps. Among them: baby onesies (sp?). I stopped, grabbed one of the UTSA onesies, commented on how cute it was, and put it back. That's when it hit. I started having flashes of our future family, of babies that were not yet to be, and who knows when they would be. I lost it. I started sobbing right there in the store. We ducked into an empty aisle, which is hard to find at Target, and John just held me and let me cry it out. We ended our shopping trip fairly quickly and went home.
Until that point I hadn't allowed myself to think about having kids since the diagnosis. Even though we were able to successfully complete fertility treatments and an egg extraction before starting chemo, I knew if I thought about it too much it would ruin me. I knew I would only be able to focus on what cancer was taking away from me, not what it was giving me and teaching me. I knew I would fall into a hole so deep, it would be hard to climb out. So I didn't think about it.
Now that the initial breakdown is over, every now and then I give myself permission to think about it, and it doesn't hurt as much any more. Instead of mourning a possible loss, I have hope. Whether it's children of our own, or whether it's children of our own by means of adoption, I know one day we'll be able to have a family.
The other day I was listening to Pandora and one of my favorite bands popped up with this song. If I did my research correctly, it's either a song to a future love, or a future child. Either way, my heart took it as a letter to a future child. It gave me so much comfort and so much hope. It definitely made my heart happy.
"I've missed you but I haven't met you
Oh how I want to
Dear whoever you might be
I'm still waiting patiently"
Saturday, December 26, 2015
Midway Cancer Musings
Good afternoon, one and all! I figured since I did a post on Cancer Musing at the beginning, I'd do a midway and an end one as well. It's not the end yet, but it is midway! So first some news and then the musing.
News: In case you missed the Facebook post, I am down from 15 to tumors to 1, which is pretty incredible! And the one I have left shrunk from 6 cm in diameter to 2 cm. So we're getting some where, folks! This is exciting! My oncologist is a great doctor, but doesn't really show emotion, so when he told us this he was very straight faced; no excitement whatsoever. So I looked at him and said, "Hey. Be excited for me!" Then he laughed and said, "Don't worry I'm excited. But not about what I'm going to tell you next." I told him to not ruin my day, which he didn't, but he informed us I have to have radiation treatments once chemo is done. It acts as like a final sweep through to ensure every bit of the cancer is gone. So I'll be radioactive for a little while. Cue Imagine Dragons! ;)
OK. Now for the musings...
1. My thoughts while watching movies with characters that have cancer, "I wonder what they're treatment regiment is." "Do they have IV chemo or pill chemo?" "That's a cute head scarf! I should look for one like that." I thought I would be all sorts of weepy watching those movies. Apparently not!
2. Kind of going along with #1, cancer hormones are weird! One day I'll be sobbing while watching "The Prince of Egypt," and no, I'm not kidding, and the next I'll be totally straight-faced watching something super moving and emotional. You cry at really weird, little things, and laugh uncontrollably at others. It's a lot like a roller coaster. This can be really annoying, but at the same time it keeps you on your toes.
3. Being bald was cool for a couple of months. Seriously, I loved it. It was a lot of fun! And now I can say I've been bald, and according to others, I pull it off really well! But I'm ready for my hair to come back now, please. I never thought I'd miss ponytails...
4. Also pairing with #3, I am not a wig person. I admire people who are though. It's just really not my thing. So beanies and head scarves it is!
5. Person: "Hey! How are you?! You look great!"
Me: "Really?! Oh, good! Because I feel like I've been run over by a few semi trucks, and then thrown into a river."
Person: ".................."
Me: ".... I'm doing great! Really! Feeling awesome!"
Person: "Oh, good! I'm so glad!"
6. Exhausted is the new normal. Adjusting my perspective when required.
7. Will there be a day when I'm not exhausted? I sure hope so. This is getting old.
8. With radiation comes "radiation tattoos." They're these little permanent, black dots that help the radiologist know where to zap you with radiation. Since they're permanent and I have to have them, I have requested that they come in the shape of different constellations. My radiologist assured me that he'd see what he could do. I'm thinking Orion, the Big Dipper, Cassiopeia (sp?) maybe.... we'll see.
9. Chemo is intimate and personal. Let me explain. There has been only one person with me at all my chemo treatments, and that is my husband. It is the simplest of procedures; stick a needle in the mediport in your chest and let the chemo roll on in! However, I have refused to let other people come and see. It's a time during this cancer shenanigans where I am my most vulnerable. Sitting in a recliner for hours with a needle pumping poisonous, but extremely helpful liquid through you makes the whole thing REAL. For me, every time I go in for chemotherapy it's like admitting to myself all over again that I have cancer. It might sound ridiculous, but it's like being diagnosed all over again, every other Monday. I have to give in to cancer for a few small hours, and I don't want anyone seeing that. I'll tell you about it. But I don't want you to have to see it.
10. There is so much good in this world. Chivalry is not dead, loving service can be found anywhere, and people everywhere are genuinely GOOD people. A prime example are all the individuals I work with. I have never met such a caring, giving, and loving group of people in my life. So many teachers, teacher aids, staff members, etc. have given me hugs, hope, shown me love and kindness, and have done everything they could to help John and I. They bring meals, they have donated money, they have made me hats, the list goes on and on. I am so blessed to be surrounded by such amazing and wonderful people. And those type of people can be found ANYWHERE! Everywhere I go there are people who see me and my bald, beautiful self, and offer me a hug of support, a hand of friendship, and prayers of hope and peace. One of the greatest blessings of having cancer has been the opening of my eyes to the goodness of God and the world around me. There is goodness and love everywhere.
11. I married the greatest man for me. Let's be real. Everyone's husband is the greatest! And that's because he's yours and does awesome things for you and your family! And I married the greatest for me. Cancer hit him just as much as it hit me. And I would give my life and everything I own to ensure he never gets cancer for himself. We have been through the refiners fire. As much as I hate admitting it, we're still in the fire. But he never shows how much the heat bothers him. He just takes my hand, smiles, tells me we're almost there, and then leads the way.
12. I still crave doughnuts. And guess what? I eat them. :)
News: In case you missed the Facebook post, I am down from 15 to tumors to 1, which is pretty incredible! And the one I have left shrunk from 6 cm in diameter to 2 cm. So we're getting some where, folks! This is exciting! My oncologist is a great doctor, but doesn't really show emotion, so when he told us this he was very straight faced; no excitement whatsoever. So I looked at him and said, "Hey. Be excited for me!" Then he laughed and said, "Don't worry I'm excited. But not about what I'm going to tell you next." I told him to not ruin my day, which he didn't, but he informed us I have to have radiation treatments once chemo is done. It acts as like a final sweep through to ensure every bit of the cancer is gone. So I'll be radioactive for a little while. Cue Imagine Dragons! ;)
OK. Now for the musings...
1. My thoughts while watching movies with characters that have cancer, "I wonder what they're treatment regiment is." "Do they have IV chemo or pill chemo?" "That's a cute head scarf! I should look for one like that." I thought I would be all sorts of weepy watching those movies. Apparently not!
2. Kind of going along with #1, cancer hormones are weird! One day I'll be sobbing while watching "The Prince of Egypt," and no, I'm not kidding, and the next I'll be totally straight-faced watching something super moving and emotional. You cry at really weird, little things, and laugh uncontrollably at others. It's a lot like a roller coaster. This can be really annoying, but at the same time it keeps you on your toes.
3. Being bald was cool for a couple of months. Seriously, I loved it. It was a lot of fun! And now I can say I've been bald, and according to others, I pull it off really well! But I'm ready for my hair to come back now, please. I never thought I'd miss ponytails...
4. Also pairing with #3, I am not a wig person. I admire people who are though. It's just really not my thing. So beanies and head scarves it is!
5. Person: "Hey! How are you?! You look great!"
Me: "Really?! Oh, good! Because I feel like I've been run over by a few semi trucks, and then thrown into a river."
Person: ".................."
Me: ".... I'm doing great! Really! Feeling awesome!"
Person: "Oh, good! I'm so glad!"
6. Exhausted is the new normal. Adjusting my perspective when required.
7. Will there be a day when I'm not exhausted? I sure hope so. This is getting old.
8. With radiation comes "radiation tattoos." They're these little permanent, black dots that help the radiologist know where to zap you with radiation. Since they're permanent and I have to have them, I have requested that they come in the shape of different constellations. My radiologist assured me that he'd see what he could do. I'm thinking Orion, the Big Dipper, Cassiopeia (sp?) maybe.... we'll see.
9. Chemo is intimate and personal. Let me explain. There has been only one person with me at all my chemo treatments, and that is my husband. It is the simplest of procedures; stick a needle in the mediport in your chest and let the chemo roll on in! However, I have refused to let other people come and see. It's a time during this cancer shenanigans where I am my most vulnerable. Sitting in a recliner for hours with a needle pumping poisonous, but extremely helpful liquid through you makes the whole thing REAL. For me, every time I go in for chemotherapy it's like admitting to myself all over again that I have cancer. It might sound ridiculous, but it's like being diagnosed all over again, every other Monday. I have to give in to cancer for a few small hours, and I don't want anyone seeing that. I'll tell you about it. But I don't want you to have to see it.
10. There is so much good in this world. Chivalry is not dead, loving service can be found anywhere, and people everywhere are genuinely GOOD people. A prime example are all the individuals I work with. I have never met such a caring, giving, and loving group of people in my life. So many teachers, teacher aids, staff members, etc. have given me hugs, hope, shown me love and kindness, and have done everything they could to help John and I. They bring meals, they have donated money, they have made me hats, the list goes on and on. I am so blessed to be surrounded by such amazing and wonderful people. And those type of people can be found ANYWHERE! Everywhere I go there are people who see me and my bald, beautiful self, and offer me a hug of support, a hand of friendship, and prayers of hope and peace. One of the greatest blessings of having cancer has been the opening of my eyes to the goodness of God and the world around me. There is goodness and love everywhere.
11. I married the greatest man for me. Let's be real. Everyone's husband is the greatest! And that's because he's yours and does awesome things for you and your family! And I married the greatest for me. Cancer hit him just as much as it hit me. And I would give my life and everything I own to ensure he never gets cancer for himself. We have been through the refiners fire. As much as I hate admitting it, we're still in the fire. But he never shows how much the heat bothers him. He just takes my hand, smiles, tells me we're almost there, and then leads the way.
12. I still crave doughnuts. And guess what? I eat them. :)
Saturday, November 7, 2015
It's Still Light
I know that having faith is hard.
There's a children's hymn in our church that starts out, "Faith is knowing the sun will rise, lighting each new day. Faith is knowing the Lord will hear my prayers each time I pray." I love that song. I loved picturing it when I was kid. I would imagine myself praying by my bed as the sun would come up and pretend that the sun was my faith, lighting the world and, more specifically, my day. I knew that as long as I could keep that sunshine, I was going to be OK. And I hoped that my own little ball of sun could help others know that they would also be OK.
Sometimes our faith is not as big as the sun. Sometimes it's only as bright as a small flame on a candle. But you know what the awesome thing is about that small flame? It's still light. It's still light illuminating a dark place. Now, there will be days and moments where your faith will totally be as big as the sun! That's awesome! But don't be ashamed for those days and moments where your faith is a candle flame. Remember: it's still light.
I said at the beginning of my cancer journey that I knew I was going to live. That hasn't changed, but let me tell ya...there have been days where my faith in that promise has been as big as the sun, and then there have been LOTS of days where my faith in that promise has felt significantly smaller than the tiniest candle flame. But guess what? It's still light.
The hard part that comes with faith is not letting the light go out completely. Our job is to "fan the flame of our faith" (Thank you, General Conference talks!). We have to feed our faith in order for it to grow. Hence the next part of the children's hymn, "Faith is like a little seed. If planted, it will grow." We have to nurture our faith. Feed the flame! Give it some more wood and poke it around a little bit with the cool fireplace poker thingy you were never allowed to play with as a kid, and light it up! Use lighter fluid if you got to! Use all the help you can get. Rely on the testimony of others. Rely on whatever testimony you have. Whether it's yours or not. Whether it's as bright as the sun or not. Even if "ye only have the desire to believe." Remember: it's still light.
The even harder part about keeping the flame and light of faith, is keeping the flame when doubts and questions arise; especially when the answers to those doubts and questions don't make sense. Unfortunately, sometimes things won't make sense. Somethings will pass our mortal understanding. Somethings will seem unfair, unjust, and it will be hard to settle our hearts and minds with what we love and hold dear. But hold on to what you know to be true. Hold on to every good thing, and hold on to your flame of faith. The winds of doubt and uncertainty will try to destroy your flame. The clouds and rains of trial will try to hide your personal sun. Tale what light you have, and protect it. Cherish it. Feed it. Because remember, no matter how dark the skies are, or how little the flame, you still have light.
I know that having faith is hard. Do not think you are alone in the ups and downs of how bright and strong your faith is. More of us, myself significantly included, understand more than you know. Please do not let your light die because doubts and trial arise. Instead, seek ways to strengthen your flame. Search the scriptures, ponder what you know to be true and what questions you want answered, and pray earnestly and humbly (that one is hard, but the most important) to know the truth. The ultimate Giver of Light and Truth will answer you.
But you know what's absolutely fantastic if you're light does go out? After every storm, the sun comes out shining. And there are a million and one ways to start a fire. :)
Remember you are loved. Remember you are important. Remember that you are known. And again, no matter the size of your faith, it's still light.
There's a children's hymn in our church that starts out, "Faith is knowing the sun will rise, lighting each new day. Faith is knowing the Lord will hear my prayers each time I pray." I love that song. I loved picturing it when I was kid. I would imagine myself praying by my bed as the sun would come up and pretend that the sun was my faith, lighting the world and, more specifically, my day. I knew that as long as I could keep that sunshine, I was going to be OK. And I hoped that my own little ball of sun could help others know that they would also be OK.
Sometimes our faith is not as big as the sun. Sometimes it's only as bright as a small flame on a candle. But you know what the awesome thing is about that small flame? It's still light. It's still light illuminating a dark place. Now, there will be days and moments where your faith will totally be as big as the sun! That's awesome! But don't be ashamed for those days and moments where your faith is a candle flame. Remember: it's still light.
I said at the beginning of my cancer journey that I knew I was going to live. That hasn't changed, but let me tell ya...there have been days where my faith in that promise has been as big as the sun, and then there have been LOTS of days where my faith in that promise has felt significantly smaller than the tiniest candle flame. But guess what? It's still light.
The hard part that comes with faith is not letting the light go out completely. Our job is to "fan the flame of our faith" (Thank you, General Conference talks!). We have to feed our faith in order for it to grow. Hence the next part of the children's hymn, "Faith is like a little seed. If planted, it will grow." We have to nurture our faith. Feed the flame! Give it some more wood and poke it around a little bit with the cool fireplace poker thingy you were never allowed to play with as a kid, and light it up! Use lighter fluid if you got to! Use all the help you can get. Rely on the testimony of others. Rely on whatever testimony you have. Whether it's yours or not. Whether it's as bright as the sun or not. Even if "ye only have the desire to believe." Remember: it's still light.
The even harder part about keeping the flame and light of faith, is keeping the flame when doubts and questions arise; especially when the answers to those doubts and questions don't make sense. Unfortunately, sometimes things won't make sense. Somethings will pass our mortal understanding. Somethings will seem unfair, unjust, and it will be hard to settle our hearts and minds with what we love and hold dear. But hold on to what you know to be true. Hold on to every good thing, and hold on to your flame of faith. The winds of doubt and uncertainty will try to destroy your flame. The clouds and rains of trial will try to hide your personal sun. Tale what light you have, and protect it. Cherish it. Feed it. Because remember, no matter how dark the skies are, or how little the flame, you still have light.
I know that having faith is hard. Do not think you are alone in the ups and downs of how bright and strong your faith is. More of us, myself significantly included, understand more than you know. Please do not let your light die because doubts and trial arise. Instead, seek ways to strengthen your flame. Search the scriptures, ponder what you know to be true and what questions you want answered, and pray earnestly and humbly (that one is hard, but the most important) to know the truth. The ultimate Giver of Light and Truth will answer you.
But you know what's absolutely fantastic if you're light does go out? After every storm, the sun comes out shining. And there are a million and one ways to start a fire. :)
Remember you are loved. Remember you are important. Remember that you are known. And again, no matter the size of your faith, it's still light.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Cancer Musings
Over the past month or so, I've had so many thoughts on cancer, people, how the two go together, and other things about life. I have also made a goal or two. Some of it random and funny, and some more thoughtful and "pondery." Lol. So I decided to share some of them. I hope that's OK. I do not mean any offense to anyone, or to make too light of a serious subject. Like I said. They're just random thoughts and musings I've had over the past little while.
1. "Ugh. Stupid cancer." This is the most common. :)
2. Person: How are you feeling today?
Me: I'm doing great! How are you?
Person: Well, I'm doing fine, but I want to know about you. I'm not the one with cancer!
Me: Wait. Who has cancer?!?!
Me: ..... oh, yeah ....
3. Cancer itself is not what hurts. It's everything that comes with cancer that hurts. The tests, needles, surgeries, the loss of loved ones, etc. That's what hurts. And as weird as it sounds, this thought brings me comfort. I can live through tests. I can live through surgeries and needles, and I've survived the loss of loved ones to cancer. Therefore, I can survive the hurt that cancer brings. Meaning, I can survive cancer.
4. I am a member of the X-Men. Hear me out. Cancer is a bunch of mutated cells. Well, I have cancer. Which means I have mutated cells. That makes me a mutant, and therefore part of the X-Men. Done.
5. Would I still have gotten cancer if I were still in Utah? I don't mean this in an "I regret moving" kind of way, and I don't mean it as "Texas gave me cancer" either. If God had told me that I would move to Texas, love my job and the people I work with and meet, find a loving, compassionate, hilarious husband, but be diagnosed with cancer, I would still make the same decision. Every single time. I just wonder if my life's plan instead of come to Texas was to stay in Utah, would this have still occurred.
6. All of the sudden I want to watch every movie I can think of that has a character who has been diagnosed with cancer. I wonder if it will be a different experience. I know that sounds lame, but for real. I've always watched those movies from one lens; that of a person on the outside. But now I have a new lens prescription. I wonder if it'll be different.
7. When you're diagnosed with cancer, the ones closest to you are diagnosed as well. They may not physically and medically have it, but they are a part of your diagnosis. It affects a lot of people. I thought I would just do my thing while everyone else did theirs, and life would move forward, and I would fight this without it affecting anyone a whole lot. I was GREATLY humbled when I realized the opposite. Cancer is not something you take on alone. It doesn't affect you alone. It affects so much more.
8. God knows what He's doing. He knew this day would come, and He knew exactly what and who I would need to help me. He led me to it, and He will guide me through it.
9. I'm going to swim the English Channel. Seriously! I know many of you are laughing right now. But for real! After I kick cancer to the curb, continue getting my health and lifestyle choices on track, and LOTS of training (we're talking years, here. YEARS.), I'm going to do it. Doubters gonna doubt. Haters gonna hate.
10. I want a doughnut. (Remembers cancer is attracted to sugar...) Darn you, cancer! Ugh. I hate you.
1. "Ugh. Stupid cancer." This is the most common. :)
2. Person: How are you feeling today?
Me: I'm doing great! How are you?
Person: Well, I'm doing fine, but I want to know about you. I'm not the one with cancer!
Me: Wait. Who has cancer?!?!
Me: ..... oh, yeah ....
3. Cancer itself is not what hurts. It's everything that comes with cancer that hurts. The tests, needles, surgeries, the loss of loved ones, etc. That's what hurts. And as weird as it sounds, this thought brings me comfort. I can live through tests. I can live through surgeries and needles, and I've survived the loss of loved ones to cancer. Therefore, I can survive the hurt that cancer brings. Meaning, I can survive cancer.
4. I am a member of the X-Men. Hear me out. Cancer is a bunch of mutated cells. Well, I have cancer. Which means I have mutated cells. That makes me a mutant, and therefore part of the X-Men. Done.
5. Would I still have gotten cancer if I were still in Utah? I don't mean this in an "I regret moving" kind of way, and I don't mean it as "Texas gave me cancer" either. If God had told me that I would move to Texas, love my job and the people I work with and meet, find a loving, compassionate, hilarious husband, but be diagnosed with cancer, I would still make the same decision. Every single time. I just wonder if my life's plan instead of come to Texas was to stay in Utah, would this have still occurred.
6. All of the sudden I want to watch every movie I can think of that has a character who has been diagnosed with cancer. I wonder if it will be a different experience. I know that sounds lame, but for real. I've always watched those movies from one lens; that of a person on the outside. But now I have a new lens prescription. I wonder if it'll be different.
7. When you're diagnosed with cancer, the ones closest to you are diagnosed as well. They may not physically and medically have it, but they are a part of your diagnosis. It affects a lot of people. I thought I would just do my thing while everyone else did theirs, and life would move forward, and I would fight this without it affecting anyone a whole lot. I was GREATLY humbled when I realized the opposite. Cancer is not something you take on alone. It doesn't affect you alone. It affects so much more.
8. God knows what He's doing. He knew this day would come, and He knew exactly what and who I would need to help me. He led me to it, and He will guide me through it.
9. I'm going to swim the English Channel. Seriously! I know many of you are laughing right now. But for real! After I kick cancer to the curb, continue getting my health and lifestyle choices on track, and LOTS of training (we're talking years, here. YEARS.), I'm going to do it. Doubters gonna doubt. Haters gonna hate.
10. I want a doughnut. (Remembers cancer is attracted to sugar...) Darn you, cancer! Ugh. I hate you.
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Cancer
I honestly never thought I'd have cancer. I've had dreams about having it since I was little, but never did I think that at some point in my life I'd actually have it.
On August 17, 2015 I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, stage 2B.
I have cancer.
Let me start by saying that I'm going to live. :) Seriously. I'm not going to die. I have a very good diagnosis, survival rates for Hodgkin's are high, and through much pondering and prayer, I have had my own personal confirmation that I am going to be just fine. This is just a bump in the road of life that I must go over.
I will be starting chemo within the next ten days, and I will receive chemo via a mediport catheter that will be implanted in my chest. It sounds worse than it is. Trust me. After three rounds (for my diagnosis, this also equals three months) of chemotherapy, I will undergo some more scanning and tests to determine how well everything is going. At that point we will decided on more chemo or to also add radiation into the mix.
The awesome news is that I will still be able to teach and work and do my everyday things. I am going to have to learn to pace myself, however. Something I have never been good at doing, but there's no better time than the present to learn! :)
Every day we are learning more and more about the tender mercies and love of our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Though this trial has come quickly and we are still taking it in at times, we have never felt more humbled and blessed by the arms that have reached out to help and support us. We have been blessed in so many ways within the past couple of weeks, and John and I are filled with so much love and gratitude.
Please do not be offended if you did not personally receive a phone call telling you about what's happening. And please don't be offended that you're finding out through this blog or Facebook. John and I did not choose to share this information via social media lightly. We decided to share it to be able to update on a regular basis our family and friends who are far away from us. We also thought it might be a good idea to share this news for support. Even though we are both very firm in the confirmation that I'm going to be just fine, we also know there will be hard days where notes or pictures from loved ones and friends will be a wonderful, welcoming distraction. :)
If you have any questions, ask me! I'd be more than happy to answer them. Also, please feel free to send any prayers or positive thoughts to John and I and our families. We are all feeling very positive, but again, we know there will be days where things are a little "cancery." And prayers and good thoughts will be much appreciated. :)
We love you all, very much! We'll update when we can, and again, feel free to ask questions. We love you!
On August 17, 2015 I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, stage 2B.
I have cancer.
Let me start by saying that I'm going to live. :) Seriously. I'm not going to die. I have a very good diagnosis, survival rates for Hodgkin's are high, and through much pondering and prayer, I have had my own personal confirmation that I am going to be just fine. This is just a bump in the road of life that I must go over.
I will be starting chemo within the next ten days, and I will receive chemo via a mediport catheter that will be implanted in my chest. It sounds worse than it is. Trust me. After three rounds (for my diagnosis, this also equals three months) of chemotherapy, I will undergo some more scanning and tests to determine how well everything is going. At that point we will decided on more chemo or to also add radiation into the mix.
The awesome news is that I will still be able to teach and work and do my everyday things. I am going to have to learn to pace myself, however. Something I have never been good at doing, but there's no better time than the present to learn! :)
Every day we are learning more and more about the tender mercies and love of our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Though this trial has come quickly and we are still taking it in at times, we have never felt more humbled and blessed by the arms that have reached out to help and support us. We have been blessed in so many ways within the past couple of weeks, and John and I are filled with so much love and gratitude.
Please do not be offended if you did not personally receive a phone call telling you about what's happening. And please don't be offended that you're finding out through this blog or Facebook. John and I did not choose to share this information via social media lightly. We decided to share it to be able to update on a regular basis our family and friends who are far away from us. We also thought it might be a good idea to share this news for support. Even though we are both very firm in the confirmation that I'm going to be just fine, we also know there will be hard days where notes or pictures from loved ones and friends will be a wonderful, welcoming distraction. :)
If you have any questions, ask me! I'd be more than happy to answer them. Also, please feel free to send any prayers or positive thoughts to John and I and our families. We are all feeling very positive, but again, we know there will be days where things are a little "cancery." And prayers and good thoughts will be much appreciated. :)
We love you all, very much! We'll update when we can, and again, feel free to ask questions. We love you!
Saturday, June 27, 2015
Five Things You Should Know About People With Anxiety
I have spent many hours and thoughts pondering how to write this entry in a way that will paint my topic in the best light, and in a way that will help people understand this topic better. I have felt the need to write this entry for over a year now, and I think I finally got it all down.
As I have not so subtly hinted on Facebook, I have General Anxiety Disorder. Sometimes it's hard saying that out loud, because sometimes people begin to think of you differently and treat you differently. I have decided due to past and more recent events to hopefully clear up, a little more, the stereotype-filled-air, and hopefully shed a little more light on the subject of anxiety.
FIVE THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT PEOPLE WITH ANXIETY
1. The Struggle Is Real
My best friend once asked me to describe what it felt like to have an anxiety attack. I told her it's a battle of the mind. In the rational side of your brain, you know everything is fine and that nothing is wrong with you. On the other hand, there is a small part of your brain that is filled with irrational fear. And unfortunately, that small part has a way of growing and enveloping the rational side in fear and panic. At that point the struggle is calming yourself down to the point where your rational side is able to take over again and squash the fear. This can take minutes to hours, depending on the severity of the attack. Most of the time everyone has a "trigger" that causes the anxiety to build. Sometimes it comes from nowhere and you just gotta deal. You may want to tell us at times to just "shake it off" and that "it's all in your head," and to a point you're right. It is all in our head. We know that. That's why, for us, the struggle is very real.
2. It's Different For Everyone
Everybody's anxiety is different. For some it's social situations; for others it flares up due to past experiences that are suddenly brought to the present mind. And then for others it's purely about their current situation and environment around them. Everyone experiences anxiety at some point in their lives, and no two people with anxiety are the same. Don't lump everyone with chronic anxiety in a huge barrel and believe that what works for one person will work for another. Because our situations and triggers are different, so are our solutions to the problem.
3. We're Not Crazy
I'll say it again. We are not crazy. Often times people diagnosed with anxiety or panic disorder don't like to share that tid bit of info, because then people begin to treat us differently. We know how ridiculous our fears are. We know exactly how irrational we sound. We are totally aware of the situation. But again, for us no matter how ridiculous we sound, the struggle is very real. We get anxious. We get nervous. We work it out the best we can and sometimes with or without the help of others. You don't need to watch us like a zoo animal waiting for something insane to happen or for us to freak out and run. We'll think you're crazy. ;)
4. Be Patient
I asked my husband to help me with this one. I asked him what was one thing he would tell people about those with anxiety. At first he said, "That you're not crazy." (See. Told ya.) But I already had that one. So he said, "People need to know to be patient. It might take a little while for someone to work through an anxiety attack. And it might take awhile for someone to be able to have the control over their anxiety that they want to have. No matter what though, you gotta be patient with them, help them, and love them. They will get there." (Yeah. I married a good one.)
5. All We Need Is For You to Be There
Just knowing that you are there and that we can rely on you, makes a huge difference in our struggle. And when I say knowing "you are there and that we can rely on you," I mean that having the knowledge that you are a friend, that you will try to be patient, that you will sit with us while we work out our struggle, not judge us, but love us, and even help us focus our minds on something else; these things alone are HUGE. For me, knowing I have a hand I can hold while I count my breaths to help me calm down, or knowing I can call a few friends to sit and watch "Bob's Burgers" with me because John isn't home from work yet and I just had an anxiety attack, or knowing I can call someone who will simply talk to me till I'm OK and have worked things out; all these things help more than you know.
Don't be afraid to ask questions. The more you know, the more you can help. And if you don't want to be that help because you're unsure of what to do or you don't know if you can or even want to handle it, that's OK! We get it. Really. We understand that more than you think. There are many days where we don't even want to deal with it.
So, again. Don't be afraid to ask questions. The more you know is the more you know! :)
As I have not so subtly hinted on Facebook, I have General Anxiety Disorder. Sometimes it's hard saying that out loud, because sometimes people begin to think of you differently and treat you differently. I have decided due to past and more recent events to hopefully clear up, a little more, the stereotype-filled-air, and hopefully shed a little more light on the subject of anxiety.
FIVE THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT PEOPLE WITH ANXIETY
1. The Struggle Is Real
My best friend once asked me to describe what it felt like to have an anxiety attack. I told her it's a battle of the mind. In the rational side of your brain, you know everything is fine and that nothing is wrong with you. On the other hand, there is a small part of your brain that is filled with irrational fear. And unfortunately, that small part has a way of growing and enveloping the rational side in fear and panic. At that point the struggle is calming yourself down to the point where your rational side is able to take over again and squash the fear. This can take minutes to hours, depending on the severity of the attack. Most of the time everyone has a "trigger" that causes the anxiety to build. Sometimes it comes from nowhere and you just gotta deal. You may want to tell us at times to just "shake it off" and that "it's all in your head," and to a point you're right. It is all in our head. We know that. That's why, for us, the struggle is very real.
2. It's Different For Everyone
Everybody's anxiety is different. For some it's social situations; for others it flares up due to past experiences that are suddenly brought to the present mind. And then for others it's purely about their current situation and environment around them. Everyone experiences anxiety at some point in their lives, and no two people with anxiety are the same. Don't lump everyone with chronic anxiety in a huge barrel and believe that what works for one person will work for another. Because our situations and triggers are different, so are our solutions to the problem.
3. We're Not Crazy
I'll say it again. We are not crazy. Often times people diagnosed with anxiety or panic disorder don't like to share that tid bit of info, because then people begin to treat us differently. We know how ridiculous our fears are. We know exactly how irrational we sound. We are totally aware of the situation. But again, for us no matter how ridiculous we sound, the struggle is very real. We get anxious. We get nervous. We work it out the best we can and sometimes with or without the help of others. You don't need to watch us like a zoo animal waiting for something insane to happen or for us to freak out and run. We'll think you're crazy. ;)
4. Be Patient
I asked my husband to help me with this one. I asked him what was one thing he would tell people about those with anxiety. At first he said, "That you're not crazy." (See. Told ya.) But I already had that one. So he said, "People need to know to be patient. It might take a little while for someone to work through an anxiety attack. And it might take awhile for someone to be able to have the control over their anxiety that they want to have. No matter what though, you gotta be patient with them, help them, and love them. They will get there." (Yeah. I married a good one.)
5. All We Need Is For You to Be There
Just knowing that you are there and that we can rely on you, makes a huge difference in our struggle. And when I say knowing "you are there and that we can rely on you," I mean that having the knowledge that you are a friend, that you will try to be patient, that you will sit with us while we work out our struggle, not judge us, but love us, and even help us focus our minds on something else; these things alone are HUGE. For me, knowing I have a hand I can hold while I count my breaths to help me calm down, or knowing I can call a few friends to sit and watch "Bob's Burgers" with me because John isn't home from work yet and I just had an anxiety attack, or knowing I can call someone who will simply talk to me till I'm OK and have worked things out; all these things help more than you know.
Don't be afraid to ask questions. The more you know, the more you can help. And if you don't want to be that help because you're unsure of what to do or you don't know if you can or even want to handle it, that's OK! We get it. Really. We understand that more than you think. There are many days where we don't even want to deal with it.
So, again. Don't be afraid to ask questions. The more you know is the more you know! :)
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