Forward

Jenny here.

Last week was a tough week for me emotionally. Physically, each round of chemo seems to wreck havoc on Wil's body faster now. He continues to tolerate it, but his body is more worn down each time, resulting in greater muscle aches, fatigue, loss of appetite, and headaches. It's not constant, but it is daily, and watching it happen is emotionally draining for me. He tries to lay off the Tylenol to spare his liver, so we have been using essential oils to help with minor aches and pains. Some days, it does great. Some days just OK. Just like with food, each day the thing that worked before may not work now or will work later. It's not consistent or predictable. He is keeping down food with just mild nausea and so far his temp has only gotten as high as 99.2 once.

On Monday, we went to clinic for his neulasta shot. His WBC was at 4.0. The cut off for normal.  Today, I'd assume he's hit neutropenia by now. We received the final and official report from the BMA--negative. We are on the right track. Fingers crossed. Barring no emergencies, our next appointment is Sunday for vincristine (chemo) at the outpatient clinic. Not having to be at clinic again until Sunday feels lovely and means 2 more mornings this week we can sleep past 6:30am. A nice little blessing.  There is nothing I adore more than extra quiet moments snuggled up next to him.  In those moments I can close my eyes and nothing feels different.

Have you ever had the experience of silently crying out in desperation and the universe, in a sweep of divine intervention, dropping bread crumb clues to lead you to safety?  To the best of my own introspection work, I think I hit a point of resentment last week.  Not for Wil or for being with him through this journey. Not a place of thinking we are above going through something like this...this life provides us all with opportunities to grow. More so, a point of angry boredom coupled with profound grief. An unsettled place of struggling acceptance.

I had just said to Wil recently, "I'm so bored with cancer." Bored of talking about it. Tired of the unknowns...Our whole life seems to revolve around a steady stream of meds, countless visits to UTSW, mountains of paperwork, vital checks at home throughout each day...you get the idea. Even when I take a break with friends or family it's often met with discussing treatment. I fall easily in to it because 1. I sometimes really need a place to talk about it (and so do others) and 2. Most of my waking hours involve caregiving or planning around caregiving/treatments.

So my growing resentment, instead, involved the fact that we had fun plans. Good plans. To be helpful people.  To be financially stable and in careers and having a family. All wonderful, simple things most people want.

We had a dream for our life together that we had built over 13 years of marriage.

For the past year we have felt held captive to a fate we don't even recognize, forced to grieve a life we never even attained. You know, in all logic, that a health issue can pop up at any time for any of us. Something terrifying can be just around the corner. Life, much of it, from the day we are born, involves pain.  We come into this world through pain and often leave in pain. In between, in the middle.  Guess what...pain is inevitable.

I know this, yet this is not how I envisioned my 30's. We have been holding it together, but trying to work through this has made me weary and resentful at times.  I had been brooding over this in my head for a few days...the pain, the resentment, and trying to muscle through both. I like to "do" and get things done (and so I am often given situations in which I just need to "be").

Then, Tuesday night, I was on a teleconference for caregivers with a life coach, Tambre Leighn.  I had heard the info being given before...professionally, I've given similar advice, many times over, to clients.  Sitting there, though, in my dimly lit office with hot tea, I quietly listened to others say the same word I've been wrestling with...resentment.  I stayed on mute, not saying a word, and just cried. Maybe I'm not so crazy. Maybe I'm I'm experiencing exactly what I need to at this time. I just feel this uncomfortable stirring at my core these days. I'm unsettled. And even if it is good for me I don't like it, quite honestly!

Part way through, Tambre told about her own journey with her husband. I really don't remember much of it, to tell you the truth. My mind was wandering, still mulling over the past 48 hours of little messages, from multiple sources, that had been strung together, as if to tell me, "it's ok to make plans, to keep moving forward, to not put life on hold for cancer."

So what I heard, wrote down, and mediated on the rest of the night were two words:  Moving Forward.

My new favorite quote for awhile has been: "The price of our vitality is the sum of all our fears."  David Whyte

I had gotten caught in fear.  I've been maintaining, holding steady. But not moving much. Fear can be a powerful spring board if used to push us toward new growth. It can also keep us just surviving.

Instead of holding to "this is not the right time to ___," should I embrace the possibility that right now, in the middle of all that is going on, may in fact be THE IDEAL time to take positive risks?  A time to get better at taking care of me? To dream even bigger?  To expand my life, my business, harness creativity, pursue new interests, strengthen relationships, redefine myself?  Is that even a "responsible" choice considering all the unknowns?

People say, cancer doesn't define you. They want to wipe our tears and take away the agony. I love them for that, I feel the warmth and care in that intention.

But the pain, the struggle...it does change us.  It's supposed to change us. It should redefine us in the way of a personal awakening in the midst of the drama.  Maybe that's the secret to making it through no matter what the outcome? And that opening ourselves to a passionate new path is what will really save us in the end.  There is no path around this if we want vitality.

What do I have to lose?  There are many years of ahead.  Life is now, and forever, coupled with the added element of cancer.  At the end of the day, all we need, is the surround of loved ones who will hold our hands as we go through the pain...for the courage to endure the discomforts and struggle...to not avoid pain and live smaller than this situation has offered.

So this week, I've started to take risks and envision a future that can stand on its own, with or without cancer.  I'm already a different person now with developing needs/interests.  I have a career and hubby I love. But our lives suddenly feel so different and my inner compass is no longer pointing in the same direction, knowing this diagnosis is bigger than us and that maybe, just maybe, it will mean something more than we had planned all along.

The threat of cancer no longer exists because we are already living in its daily presence. And it makes other risks, suddenly, seem so very small.