When the weight becomes too much.

Yesterday I got news that my scans were stable.

You might think this spurred me to jump up and down squealing with joy. Indeed, my first reaction was relief. Grateful the cancer hasn’t spread to other organs or more places in my bones. However, after the gentle wave of relief I was pulled under the water like a cement block tied to my ankle.

I sunk deep into anger and sadness.

While I know stable is good. What I really hoped for was improvement. Proof that this hard chemo is working to kill the cancer cells surrounding my lung. A sign that my swollen, peeling feet, tender fingers, hair-loss and weight gain are all worth it because my left lung is now fully expanding free of the pressure of the cancerous fluid surrounding it. Of course, I had a hunch it wouldn’t get the elusive NED news because I’m often short of breath and can’t exert myself like I once loved to do - running, biking, hiking. But, I still held out hope that I would not show any active cancer in my body. Guess my first 5 years of NED (no evidence of disease) spoiled me.

Looking at that scan and seeing my sad little smushed lung crushed me. The weight and pressure of metastatic breast cancer came crashing down all at once. I sunk with the weight. Like a giant standing on my shoulders. I crumbled.

I cried ugly tears and felt rage building inside me. I tried a hot bubble bath and a walk in the sunshine - momentarily clinging to the peace of stability… but the anger clung tight.

I put on a happy face when I picked up Bennett from school. Asking questions about his last day in person as we transition to virtual learning until 2021. He was noticeably bummed - as we all are to enter another round of shut downs to combat COVID. We talked about how it’s necessary but not easy. I smiled and we laughed. At home I ran through some things I needed his help with as we packed for a trip to our farm where Jay and Wills were already staying due to Wills 14 day quarantine from a COVID exposure. Pulling out a couple jeans from Bennett’s closet I asked which ones fit, explaining my plan for us to take a family photo at the farm. His expected 13 year old response was, “ugh mom. I’m not wearing jeans.” and “Why do we have to take a (stupid) family photo anyway?”

I lost it. All the rage, frustration, cancer anger that had been building came out sideways. I mean, parenting FAIL. I yelled, I swore, I whipped the jeans on the ground like a 2 year old. I lost it. My rage spurred his anger. We yelled and cried and slammed doors. Bennett and I share a similar personality - big feelings. We love big and we anger big too.

I am completely disappointed in my behavior. After we cooled down we sat on the floor of the hallway crying, talking, listening. Through my sobs I apologized for my behavior. I shared all the anger, frustration and fear that came out when he questioned the need for a family photo. I named what was really at the heart of it all - my fear that one day I won’t be in the family photo. Maybe I was too raw and open, but I felt if he got all of my anger he also deserved all of my vulnerability and honesty.

I was pregnant with Bennett when I was diagnosed with cancer. So, all he knows is cancer. There have been many moments it didn’t dominate our world - wonderful moments. But, it’s all he knows. What a weight to carry as a 13 year old…

We hugged. I explained I wanted to help him find tools to manage his feelings better than me so that when he gets really mad as a parent he won’t scream expletives at his child. How can I help him recognize and diffuse the bomb that ticks inside us? How do we let out some of the pressure before it explodes under the weight of pain? How do I do this myself?

The pain isn’t going away. It’s only going to get heavier.

As the day went on, the tension tightened. I developed a migraine headache. I cried in the shower. I snapped at Jay and the boys… repeatedly. I reached my breaking point - Cancer, COVID, my birthday tomorrow. Fear, disappointment, sadness.

I share this honest, vulnerable, maybe too raw post because I want others to know you are not alone in your pain and rage. I seek joy. I laugh spontaneously and cherish every sunset. I am “an inspiration.” I am also broken and human and filled with anger.

I hold both fear and joy in the same hand at the same time.

Sometimes the fear is so hot it burns my hands and ignites an angry fire. I have learned to be gentle with myself when this happens- to distance myself from those I love so I don’t hurt them. I try to let it out - ideally not through a screaming argument with my child… but I’m far from perfect. Usually it takes me 10 little arguments or frustrations to recognize what is really behind my feelings of discontent, a bigger emotion that is pulling me down. Those I love and can be most vulnerable with take the brunt of the anger.

If you feel these same feelings - know you are not alone. Being human is hard. Especially now as we face the uncertainty of COVID… and so much loss. Loss of those we love and the loss of experiences that bring us joy. Facing this with the weight of a serious illness is almost too much. Be gentle with yourself. I will too.

Today, as I face this new day - I do it a little lighter. Because I laid down some of my painful weight here. Thank you for reading, caring and taking some of this to heart.

Tomorrow, my birthday won’t be filled with friends or a big party. I’m hoping for a board game, a walk in the woods and a glass of good champagne. But, most of all I’m hoping for a peaceful, light heart. A moment free from the weight of my pain and fear. A day to celebrate the 44 years I’ve lived and the gift of one more. All I want is to grow older. To be here longer… and to shed the weight of this diagnosis, even just for a moment.

With love, patience and perseverance,

“I have learned to hold both fear and joy in the same hand at the same time.”