Thriving, but always questioning
I thought I better check in again. It is always painful to examine my cancer life, thus I write infrequently.
What really inspired me to write tonight was that I recently concerned some people in my family because of a quote I posted on facebook. Lots of people on facebook are cryptic, vague, indirect. I am not that way, and I really loathe that approach. I am direct. But some people were concerned that something was wrong with me when I posted the following:
"i guess i could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me, but it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. sometimes i feel like i'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. and then i remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it. and then it flows through me like rain and i can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. you have no idea what I'm talking about, i'm sure. but don't worry...you will someday."
A few people reached out to me or Johnny, concerned that something was wrong. But of course nothing is. I am struck by the sentiment, that's all. It's the closing words from the main character in American Beauty, one of my all time favorite movies.
My days are good, and I am so fulfilled in my busy life. I completely relate to feeling like I'm seeing it all at once, my heart filling up like a balloon that's about to burst. Relaxing, having it flow through me like rain, feeling so much gratitude. That's really where I'm at.
When he says "what happened to me," he is referring to being murdered. But that could be anything. For me, it's cancer. For a dear friend of mine, it's not being able to have children. We all have a little hurt. And we get to come terms with it, and choose life. Some of it is small, others have bigger stuff.
I have been living in Davis for nine months now, and really like it. I recently accepted a job in Davis that starts in a few weeks, so I will no longer have to commute. I have made some great friends in Davis so far. The cancer thing eventually comes up, and I get the dreaded question, "So...are you cancer-free?" I'm done being polite. I hate that question. Natural human curiosity hurts. I don't like that question, I don't like fumbling through answering it, it just sucks. How do you say, "No, there are small millimeters of thyroid tissue in my neck threatening to grow and reignite the awful cycle of cancer treatment thus taking over my life and denying me the right to do as I please on the timeline of my choosing." You don't. Lately I just say, "Yes." Which is not true. I am afraid of cancer recurrence, absolutely. As things in my life get good, I truly fear losing the ground I've gained. Or at least losing whatever control I think I have over anything. When of course I know I'm not calling the shots. Being in my early 20s, everything is still getting going. I wish there wasn't this uncertainty surrounding my health. In two years I will lose my health insurance from my dad. That's on my mind. Two years is a short time. If at that time I'm not working somewhere that provides benefits, I'll buy insurance for myself. And I wonder, will I be able to afford good care? My blood tests that go to USC a few times per year cost $450. How much will I pay for that? My ultrasounds cost over $800. But then, that's the least of it. When will I have to have my next surgery? Will it be after my first baby? Or my second? Or after I'm done having children, during the days of homework, extracurricular activities, and taxiing children from here to there? Which part am I going to have to miss? None of us knows when we have to go. But I guess I have more of an inkling than others, I have more of an awareness of the real threat that looms over me. Having cancer at 19 sucks. Having cancer at 23 sucks too.
If I want to survive and carry on with my life, I have to accept it and keep going. But I do visit these worries when I write. This is what it's like to be four years out from a cancer diagnosis. Thriving, but always questioning. It's both. I also think part of this is being in my early twenties, wondering how it will all work out, wanting to know all the answers now. I recognize this is part of growing up. I always say that facing adversity has given me the most incredible gifts, and I am who I am today because of what I've gone through, and that I wouldn't change it even if I could. Having cancer has given me a perspective and an outlook on life I couldn't have gotten any other way. But I'm not a machine, and I have hurts like everyone else.
Johnny will be taking the MCAT later this year, and applying for med schools starts next year. We are talking more seriously about our future and what that entails. It's an exciting time. I just hope I can be present for it all, healthy. I have a lot to look forward to these days. My days are not dark like they were in 2013. There's so much light now. So much so, that I'm afraid of it going dark again. I'm fine with being somewhere inbetween, I guess. Again, acceptance is required for my survival. I'm working on it.
"...and then i remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it."
What really inspired me to write tonight was that I recently concerned some people in my family because of a quote I posted on facebook. Lots of people on facebook are cryptic, vague, indirect. I am not that way, and I really loathe that approach. I am direct. But some people were concerned that something was wrong with me when I posted the following:
"i guess i could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me, but it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. sometimes i feel like i'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. and then i remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it. and then it flows through me like rain and i can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. you have no idea what I'm talking about, i'm sure. but don't worry...you will someday."
A few people reached out to me or Johnny, concerned that something was wrong. But of course nothing is. I am struck by the sentiment, that's all. It's the closing words from the main character in American Beauty, one of my all time favorite movies.
My days are good, and I am so fulfilled in my busy life. I completely relate to feeling like I'm seeing it all at once, my heart filling up like a balloon that's about to burst. Relaxing, having it flow through me like rain, feeling so much gratitude. That's really where I'm at.
When he says "what happened to me," he is referring to being murdered. But that could be anything. For me, it's cancer. For a dear friend of mine, it's not being able to have children. We all have a little hurt. And we get to come terms with it, and choose life. Some of it is small, others have bigger stuff.
I have been living in Davis for nine months now, and really like it. I recently accepted a job in Davis that starts in a few weeks, so I will no longer have to commute. I have made some great friends in Davis so far. The cancer thing eventually comes up, and I get the dreaded question, "So...are you cancer-free?" I'm done being polite. I hate that question. Natural human curiosity hurts. I don't like that question, I don't like fumbling through answering it, it just sucks. How do you say, "No, there are small millimeters of thyroid tissue in my neck threatening to grow and reignite the awful cycle of cancer treatment thus taking over my life and denying me the right to do as I please on the timeline of my choosing." You don't. Lately I just say, "Yes." Which is not true. I am afraid of cancer recurrence, absolutely. As things in my life get good, I truly fear losing the ground I've gained. Or at least losing whatever control I think I have over anything. When of course I know I'm not calling the shots. Being in my early 20s, everything is still getting going. I wish there wasn't this uncertainty surrounding my health. In two years I will lose my health insurance from my dad. That's on my mind. Two years is a short time. If at that time I'm not working somewhere that provides benefits, I'll buy insurance for myself. And I wonder, will I be able to afford good care? My blood tests that go to USC a few times per year cost $450. How much will I pay for that? My ultrasounds cost over $800. But then, that's the least of it. When will I have to have my next surgery? Will it be after my first baby? Or my second? Or after I'm done having children, during the days of homework, extracurricular activities, and taxiing children from here to there? Which part am I going to have to miss? None of us knows when we have to go. But I guess I have more of an inkling than others, I have more of an awareness of the real threat that looms over me. Having cancer at 19 sucks. Having cancer at 23 sucks too.
If I want to survive and carry on with my life, I have to accept it and keep going. But I do visit these worries when I write. This is what it's like to be four years out from a cancer diagnosis. Thriving, but always questioning. It's both. I also think part of this is being in my early twenties, wondering how it will all work out, wanting to know all the answers now. I recognize this is part of growing up. I always say that facing adversity has given me the most incredible gifts, and I am who I am today because of what I've gone through, and that I wouldn't change it even if I could. Having cancer has given me a perspective and an outlook on life I couldn't have gotten any other way. But I'm not a machine, and I have hurts like everyone else.
Johnny will be taking the MCAT later this year, and applying for med schools starts next year. We are talking more seriously about our future and what that entails. It's an exciting time. I just hope I can be present for it all, healthy. I have a lot to look forward to these days. My days are not dark like they were in 2013. There's so much light now. So much so, that I'm afraid of it going dark again. I'm fine with being somewhere inbetween, I guess. Again, acceptance is required for my survival. I'm working on it.
"...and then i remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it."
I came across your blog today. I am 7 days post-op, waiting for the instructions on the RAI treatment. Thanks so much for posting your story. I helps to hear what others have experienced. I wish you the best - from hearing your voice in your writing, I know that you are going to accomplish great things!
ReplyDeleteHi Rachel, how are you doing now? Thanks for reading.
DeleteBeautiful use of a beautiful quote
ReplyDelete