Life is slow and weird these days. Life is wonderful, but so strange in this one month after the end of treatment. I have been going back and forth about writing anything about this. I don't want to sound unhappy with where we are or ungrateful for how tremendously blessed we have been and continue to be. So let's get that out of the way - we have a beautiful, rich, blessed life. We see the Lord's hand in our lives daily - He is so merciful and good to us.
But, I guess I'm just having a hard time with the adjustment back into "normal life". It's like we got kicked out of one world (the cancer world) -which we were happy to be kicked out of!- but we don't quite feel like we fit into this one yet. It's kind of like when you get married and you know how you don't really feel all that different or new or magical just because someone said, "You're married now". You feel ridiculously happy, but still a lot like your old self, like from five minutes before. But things are different and you can do things you couldn't before and you have a different name and a different role and expectations and you're MARRIED (and all that comes with it). It feels a little like that. How is that one day I am one thing and the next day I'm another just because someone told me so? Someone said way back two and a half years ago, "On July 14th, 2012, Elena will stop treatment." And then we got to that (somewhat arbitrary) date and we gave the last chemo and it was over. And we went to clinic for a check-up a week later and the doctor said, "That's it! You're done! She looks great! See you next month." And they all said the words. But it's not like some magical change has come over us. We're still very much those same worried cancer parents, comfortable in our routine, able to rattle off a list of ten-syllabled prescription names in our sleep, ready with a thermometer and bottle of hand sanitizer, who almost feel more comfortable in a doctor's office or hospital than hanging out at a friend's house. As much as we want to and have tried, passing the magical date of July 14, 2012 has not *poofed* us into our old selves - or even into new people. Not for lack of trying - we've done a lot of running around without shoes on and going to the park, and we don't have to give medicine most nights before bed, and we don't run for the thermometer every time Elena feels warm, and we never talk about cancer with anyone here - there is hardly a soul here who knows. But for all the trying, it just hasn't worked.
And I don't know... I feel.... happy, relieved, and grateful - yes. But also very much: somewhat empty, confused, melancholy, lost, and really weird.
For everyone else, life goes on. They cheer with us for a moment, assume all is fabulous now, and move forward. I know I've done it with friends and family who finally finished treatment or who finally got pregnant or who finally got a job or who finally adopted, etc. I think life is so busy and worrying/grieving with and about others can be so hard that it's easy to think, "Phew! Glad I can cross that one of the list!" You know what I mean? Or is that just me who feels that way sometimes because I don't like things hanging over my head and like to cross things off lists? Anyhow...
Life goes on. But here we still sit - still worrying and obsessing about what the future will bring (oh the times this last month that my heart has literally felt like it's in my throat as I've been SURE Elena must have relapsed), still buried under a mountain of medical bills (the cancer gift that keeps on giving), and still unsure of where we fit in and how to proceed from here.
The scars of cancer run deep indeed. I just hope they fade with time.
Glow Stick Baby
2 days ago
9 comments:
I know exactly what you're talking about with the just married thing - you're super happy and excited to start this new life but you're still the same person you were only 24 hours before. And like you say, it takes time to adjust. The last day of cancer was just the first day beginning this new journey for you guys! Hang in there!
I don't remember where I heard this but it was long ago:
If you give something up (a bad habit, a person, anything) you have to replace it with something else or there is a void.
Sometimes that is easy to see- if you want to stop smoking you need to find something else to replace that habit.
How do you fill a cancer void? It is a strange and ugly void. It affects the whole family in ways you don't anticipate. Sure, instead of telling Elena no, you can tell her yes! But how to you replace a nagging fear with something else? Especially when that fear is something you've relied on to survive?
We've been lucky enough that life has been completely and utterly insane lately. I don't have time to pay the bills! (thank goodness we've got autopay! At this point I just periodically check our online banking to make sure we've got enough $ in our account!) Otherwise I'm sure I'd be where you are now. And when life settles down I'm anticipating there will be some sort of weird emptiness.
No one where we live now knows about Daph's situation. (though we're not in a completely new community so we've still got plenty of people around us who know.) And part of me likes it. But part of me wants to say, no. You really don't have any idea what an amazing young lady she is.
In short. Cancer sucks. As Daph says, "Cancer is a POOP FACE!"
OH man! This is a tough situation! Cancer has been such a HUGE part of your lives for the last 800 and some odd days that it became routine and normal. I'm sure that if you think back to the beginning, it was anything but routine and normal. What made the difference from it being not routine and normal to being routine and normal? Was it just time and experience with it?? I'm guessing that's the same thing that will need to happen for you to feel routine and normal again--time and experience, in this new type of life. Does that make any sense??
I like what you wrote about cancer leaving deep scars--that was poignant to me.
I'll be thinking about you guys!
Give yourself some time...a lot of time. Post cancer is new unfamiliar territory. It's not now, nor will it ever be the same as pre cancer life. You can never go back. Cancer scars DO run deep physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. You have changed. Your knowledge has changed. Your expectations have changed. Your perspective has changed. Your understanding of adversity has changed. Just like adjusting to your new surroundings with your move takes time, so does adjusting to the after affects of a life changing event or circumstance. Stand still and let it swirl around you until it settles and becomes the familiar comforting peaceful blessing of recognized growth that can only come through experience. I'm so grateful that you've so openly shared your experience. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
I've been thinking about you and wondered if all the "new" things in your life are surprising you. Play music to help keep you on an even keel. I'm sure time will help. You've had a lot of changes recently. Wish I could snap my fingers and help your feelings move along. We love you.
The scars DO FADE! I promise. I promise. I promise!
Erin has been in remission for 21 months and I hardly think about cancer now. I felt EXACTLY like you describe for about 6 months, then I started to relax, then I started to think less and less about cancer. I gradually learned how to have conversations with people without the word "cancer" in them. You will succeed too! Be patient and time will heal. Again, I promise!
I will say, I do STILL think about cancer, but it is only about once a week and for just a brief second. AND, get this, I have forgotten MANY of the names of the meds we used to be able to rattle off in our sleep. There are STILL things that remind me of cancer - the alarm on my phone, the feel of Erin snuggling me (I know this is weird, but we snuggled so much, it is when we snuggle that I'm reminded MOST of cancer), the toddler bed in our basement that she was sleeping in when I got that awful phone call telling me she had cancer, the princess dress-up she wore endlessly in the hospital. These things remind me of cancer, I've thought about tossing them out, but I don't want to forget everything about cancer because I learned some beautiful things during that trial.
Just know, you aren't alone. These are normal feelings and they WILL FADE! Love you Briana!
this actually totally makes sense to me, and i think your analogy to getting married is a perfect one. i had a similar experience when i had sophie-- all of the sudden i was a mom and was supposed to know what to do and feel... also happened when i was a missionary. anyway, i think you are normal to just feel totally weird after so much time spent dealing with cancer. i am certain your feelings will fade with time.
and also, FYI, we still pray for elena and that her cancer will stay away forever. you're not forgotten!
Ah, Bri...what all of these people have said is so true...give yourself time...time to let the dust settle...you have been in the midst of a hurricane...in the eye! You have been picked up, tossed around, temporarily set down, and again, picked up & twirled around...now the hurricane is over! Time to pick yourselves up, dust off, and try to pick thru the devastation, and start rebuilding! You are such a strong family...you have weathered the storm, several times...but have gotten to your feet, doubled up your fist and said..."you are not going to beat us"!!
Heavenly Father has been with you all the time...rely on Him as you go thru the days to come...take things slowly, relax & enjoy!!
We love you beyond measure! Hugs to all!!
The cancer scars will fade, but never be entirely gone. What you describe is a part of life, I think. Our experiences change us--in fact, I believe that is the purpose of our experiences, to change us and help us grow into the people Heavenly Father would have us become. So you will never go back to the people you were before. And now, you have to figure out who you are now--post-cancer. Wiser, more compassionate, more vulnerable, more serious, more aware, more faithful, more grateful, more grown up.
And like you, I pray for Elena, that this monster--cancer--will never come back.
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