Hope or let go?
One of the hardest parts of my drastic turn has been loosing myself - physically, emotionally and spiritually.
When I was first diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer in 2007 it was terrifying and an enormous challenge, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. There was a way through. And we found it.
When I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer in 2014 - I was again devastated and frightened. I dug deep to find strength, determination and a passion for life that helped us find our way through. My body responded to treatments - building my determination. I felt stronger than I ever had before.
For 5 years I outlived the odds - I ran, laughed, traveled, built a non-profit organization, lead our family on adventures and cherished every moment - with a full understanding of how precious it all was.
My first MBC progression was terrifying but I faced it and came out stronger, realizing it didn’t break me. I doubled down on hope, determined to live my life fully and deeply. The next progression, we found our way through again. Each set back made us stronger and more grateful for the life we were living. We flew to Costa Rica and lived in the rainforest - surfing, hiking, marveling at nature. There was progression, but I was capable, determined, hopeful. There were treatment options. We found strength in each other. I believed in my body, science and radical hope.
Over the past year we have been hit with constant bad news. The cancer not responding to treatment, the cancer mutating from estrogen positive to triple negative, the cancer spreading from one lung to the other to my abdomen. I struggled through surgeries. Suffocating from fluid build up in my lungs. One day I looked at my arm and I didn’t recognize it. It looked like a 90 year old. The dry skin hanging from the boney elbow. I put my hands on my once strong thighs - legs that have run marathons and triathlons, climbed mountains and carried children - the muscle gone, just bone. I rub my hands over my head, feeling my small bald head. My shoulders that once carried children, backpacks and loved the feel of beautiful dresses - now bony and weak.
It happened so fast.
And yet, it didn’t. Almost 14 years facing cancer, 7 with MBC. That’s more than many get.
In my dreams I am still healthy. I run and laugh and keep up with my family. Sometimes I wake up and think about going to yoga or for a run… until I roll over with a shooting pain as I tweak the the catheter draining cancerous fluid from my abdomen.
My old life, smile and body are still so real - I can imagine going out to dinner with friends and laughing spontaneously. Hustling across the street with giggles of excitement. I feel my body shooting back to plank from crow pose. I pick up a basketball and remember challenging our boys to a quick game without a second thought. Running around all day getting things done - errands, dropping off kids, meeting friends, keeping our household on track. Moving through life with optimism and eager joy.
Today, I am disconnected, watching our family and the world move around me. I feel a different kind of terrified than I ever have before. For the first time, I feel vulnerable beyond recognition. I can’t do the things with our family that I have always done - I lay on the couch, I cry in my bed, I can’t climb a flight of stairs.
And, I don’t know if my determination should be to find the strength to do these things again. Or, the grace to let go.
For the past 13 years I faced cancer with determination, strength & perseverance. Always pointing toward healing and renewed wellness, my heart and body responding. This is how we face challenges, working toward recovery. What now? Can I still seek this? Is it foolish to hope that I will regain my ability to breath? Is it ridiculous to imagine a day I feel capable.
I don’t know? I understand my prognosis is bad. I have watched far too many friends die of this disease. I know the facts. Yet, I am just not ready yet to take this path. I know there will be a day when I turn from fighting to acceptance. Am I there already? How do I know? How do I find peace?
Then, a little voice pipes up in my head… maybe this chemo will work? I know it will be hard - I recognize my days of running marathons are behind me, but could there still be days of renewed strength? Could I go on vacation with my family - check off a couple more items on our wonder list? Regain a little strength? Find myself again?
Do I hope for this or let it go?
