I spent much of 2017 focused on death and how to avoid it. When you’re smacked with a cancer diagnosis, time slows down. You only see as far as the next test results, holding your breath for a week at a time until you get news, followed by the next suggested steps. Your life becomes an “if-then” flow chart. Finally you get a concrete treatment plan, but that also limits your view of the future. Treatments are like stepping stones across a foggy river. You know the other side is out there, but you can only focus on the step in front of you, and for good reason. These are the most labored steps that you’ve taken since learning to walk. The process is exhausting, and wishes of “You can do it, you’re a fighter” are received with reluctance. Honestly, you don’t want to fight anymore. You want it to end.
Eventually it does. You’re done with treatments and have to deal with a future of ambiguity. The stepping stones then become scans and the space between them widens, allowing normality to seep in. Lingering side effects become fuzzy annoyances. Some days you forget you were a cancer patient. Having your hair grow back helps – a bald head is a constant reminder, but as the hair comes in, you look less chemo and more sporty. “Cancer” ceases to sound like a terrifying death sentence. Distance gives you perspective. You move forward.
And now…what? You are not the same person. Maybe it’s the fear and anxiety, maybe it’s the chemo drugs, maybe it’s the weeks of daily radiation, but something inside you is different. I describe it as a nagging urge to find a new dimension of life. Perhaps it’s another version of searching for my “why”, but it’s not a big leap to convince yourself that there was a purpose to your journey that goes beyond just the treatments. There is a feeling of inner wisdom that needs to be expressed. The most difficult part is figuring out how to do this in the time that you have left on this earth.