The Me You See... |
Actually, I was drafted
into an army – a Pink Rover Line that is so long and so wide that it would
surprise you.
Cancer is no respecter of persons, it doesn’t matter your
financial status, your race, your religion, your age. Once you get drafted, you
are drafted and the drafting will leave you shell shocked but before you can
even wrap your brain around WHAT is happening you are enrolled in a regimen
that you have no choice but to be an active participant in.
I suppose it is a good thing that it is so regimented
because it doesn’t give you much time to really think. You go from doctor to doctor to oncologist to
nurse, to surgery, treatment, radiation – in such a manner that it physically
wears you out. Chemo is no walk in the
park. I remember my first round. I was a newbie, doing what I was told to
do. I came armed with books, my cell phone, my
laptop. It was going to be okay, I was use to multi-tasking. Holding out my arm for the IV I said, “Here I am! I got
this!” And then came the first dose… It
takes hours… And the chemo I had is nicknamed “The Red Devil” for a
reason. That chemo is NO joke – it means
business as it runs through your veins.
Six years later I can still recall the taste, the smell the feeling of
that chemo going through my body. It hit
hard and like a red tidal wave rushed with my blood through my veins to every
part of my being. I couldn’t read, I
couldn’t type, all I could do was feel and what I felt was exhaustion. It was like something I had never experienced
before and would not have known what to expect.
That first night, I could taste it, I could smell it, it was
in my pores. Exhausted I went back to my
childhood home and collapsed on the bed.
That night I had nightmares, I dreamt of hell and heat and sulfur and
woke up scared out of my mind, my heart racing, my skin drenched in sweat. No matter what I did during that time of
treatment with Adriamycin, cytoxan and Taxol - I could not get that smell out of my nostrils.
The thing about treatment is this – that in a sense it is so
regimented that you don’t have much time to think – you just go through. For me, that was my saving grace – I followed
a treatment schedule, I was in the Pink Army now. “Deal with it Soldier! You don’t have a
choice!” So I did.
Early detection is key – I cannot say that enough. After rounds of two different types of chemotherapy (I hope I remember this right... Adriamycin, Cytoxan and Taxol) and then I endured 35 rounds of radiation. Radiation – a crazy thing that takes what
looks like a red laser to your cancer site location and burns the absolute hell
out of your skin in the matter of minutes.
But it works… It’s role, to make sure it obliterates any cancer cells
that *might* have survived those rounds of chemotherapy. Honestly, worse than any beach sunburn (while
using baby oil) that a person has ever gone through, but you do it because you are in the army now,
it is part of the regimen AND it works. And really, you don't have a choice.
The second hardest part (and I say second, because the first
hardest part is hearing you’ve been diagnosed with cancer) is post treatment
life. This is the time when you have
done your time in the Treatment Service and all of a sudden – you are
done. You are cancer-free. Some people choose to use the repulsive term “in
remission” but those are the people who are sitting there “waiting” for the
cancer to return. I was not part of that
delegated group. Nor will I EVER
be. I was declared, “cancer-free” with a
shake of the hand and a congratulations, I was released.
Released.
What next?? Actual time to think? What happened? I looked
around and all of a sudden a flood of feelings hit me like a tsunami. WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT NOW? HOW? WHY?
All those feelings came upon me like a floodgate. Not only
did cancer affect my body – it affected my life. I became keenly aware during the time I was
in the Pink Army Regimen of treatment of who outside my Pink world had
abandoned me. People I NEVER would have
guessed. People who were close to me who
while I was sick didn’t know how to talk to me.
I was still the same person, I hadn’t changed – cancer happened TO ME it
wasn’t what I had become. Yet in looking
at me perhaps it made them look at their own mortality and they were “awkward”
with me. They didn’t know how to
identify with me anymore. It seemed like there was a lot of “head nodding” and
fake smiling and small talk which perhaps they didn’t think I could pick up on…
But I did. I don’t blame them, I get it –
you don’t have common ground anymore.
You have never been where I was.
This is where the bond between my
Pink Sisters came in. My Pink family, “the
girls” the ones who got it. The ones who
knew. We could just look at each other
and get it. We could act as goof-bally
as we wanted or cry or scream or vent or laugh like crazy women and we got
it. WHY because we understood. We understood that we were drafted, that this
wasn’t our fault, that we had no control over it. We were there for each other – holding tight
to each-others hands – not letting go.
In many of our cases the holding of those hands (emotionally speaking)
was what kept us fighting. For those of
us who experienced people we loved falling away from us – those hands became
lifelines. Holding on for dear life.
It’s been six years.
Some would say, “why are you still talking about it? You’ve been healed! You are cancer-free! MOVE
ON!” To which I would look at them with
a mix of emotions – anger, pity, rage, sorrow and disdain because unless you
are a survivor you have no idea how very difficult that is. Each of our journeys have been individual,
unique. Each experience different. The thing about the Pinks is that we
understand that. We allow each other to
feel whatever it is we feel. It’s okay
if you’re angry, or scared, or sad, or whatever you feel -
ALLOW yourself to feel it. It’s
okay. That’s the difference between a
survivor and someone who hasn’t been through what we’ve gone through.
I don’t say any of what I’ve written in bitterness. God has given me a second chance at life, and
I am every day thankful. I have Pink
sisters who didn’t make it and they were no less deserving than I.
I’m not the same person I was prior to cancer. My life has changed, my body has changed, my
family has changed. I’m still trying to
come to terms with it. Some days are
easier than others. Some not. I didn’t
ask for cancer to happen to me. I didn’t
ask for my life to change – but I was drafted.
I have chosen not to become bitter – but there are times when I don’t
know HOW to become better. I hurt. Even
as a Christian, I feel lost along the way.
There feels like there is such a responsibility to being given the gift of a
second chance at life – but there are added responsibilities that are due to the fabric of my life changing
so drastically. I did not sign up for
this, I did not expect this. The range
of emotions I go through from gratitude to anger, to intensive fear is
something I suppose will stick with me for the rest of my life.
I know that this is something that my Pink sisters feel
too. Cancer is not just about what affects
the body, it affects all of what makes YOU you.
If I were to be truly transparent – I would have to say that
more than the fear of going through it again (which a survivor worries about
every time they go for that next oncology appointment, because you didn’t
expect to get cancer in the first place – once bitten twice shy) – and that fear
comes up every time you walk through those hospital doors. Even after 6 years
the fear always comes up with every appointment.
But more than that – the fear of being loved and left
again. The fear of being hurt. The fear of being alone is one that for those
of us who went through it and saw people walk away from us is something that is
a scar as real as any surgical scar. It’s the PSD following the Pink
drafting. The residue of what is left as
you try to pick up those pieces (and even after 6 years I’m still picking them
up) and move forward.
What encouraging advice can I give? The good that has come
from cancer? The rainbow after the storm?
I can say that you learn to love deeper.
Like a tornado that unexpectedly comes upon the house of you – it rips
the hinges of your bullshit meter door right off your house. GONE.
You no longer have the capacity to deal with bullshit or pettiness or
drama. WHY? Because you realize how
short life is. You have had a crash
course in what is important and what is not.
Many survivors have become just raw.
We have a tendency not to sugarcoat ANYTHING. We ARE the REAL McCoy. We tell it like it is.
That’s refreshing.
And if a survivor loves you – you are in for an intimate full blown love
affair like you have never experienced in your life. Survivors love completely, passionately with
all their hearts because they know that no one is promised tomorrow. NOT ANYONE
OF US – all though we all live like God owes it to us – He does not. So being around a cancer survivor can be
refreshing because they are honest and straightforward and to the point… At
least most of us…
I choose not to live in bitterness – I choose to become
better, but I am a work in progress. I
get filled with fear of the unknown.
I get scared… When you go through cancer, you learn to
depend upon yourself because honestly – NO ONE is going through it WITH
YOU. It is happening to YOU. It isn’t until it is all said and done that
you are even able to think what it must have been like for your loved ones (the
ones that chose to hang around) because during the treatment regimen it is
taking ALL it can for you to get through it.
You don’t mean to be selfish or self-involved, it just leaves you no
choice.
Six years later – my life has changed. I can see the better now. There IS a rainbow after the storm. You just have to believe and wait and
see. And most of all – walk in
forgiveness and love and trust that even if you don’t know the WHY of it. God sees everything in its fullness. After the worst of the storms comes some of the
MOST beautiful rainbows. I see it now –
the rainbow… Sometimes it feels a lot farther off in the future than it
actually is, but that is all about perception.
The fact is – it’s there. You just have to look hard enough for it...