I’m truly an optimistic person, and a woman of faith and and I’ve tried to approach this cancer journey with as much optimism and faith as possible. Smile through the pain. Remember why I’m enduring this season. Be thankful for all our love and support.
And I am. I truly am.
But I can’t keep hiding and lying my way through this.
I can’t be optimistic every day.
This has truly been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. This year has been incredibly long and hard and sad.
Even if we just were walking a cancer journey, this year would have been wild.
Even if we were just walking this first year with twins, this year would have been wild.
We are walking both.
I’m walking both.
As much as I am so thankful for all my people, they didn’t live the twin pregnancy, 16 iv chemos, hair loss, and bilateral mastectomy, weight gain, and now a million other pills and appointments.
I’m jealous of people who got cancer easier than me. Like when they are retired. They just get to go to treatment and go home and rest. And sleep and not take care of anyone. Getting cancer at 70 when you only have to care for yourself is not the same thing I’m going through. Getting just radiation and not losing your hair – not the same. People that were diagnosed after me and are already done with treatment. Doesn’t that sound ridiculous? Cancer is cancer.
I have truly suffered. This grief I wish I could just tuck into my pocket is just too big right now. It walks before me and surrounds me and I just try to move through it.
I recently learned that my doctors don’t expect return of original energy levels until one year after IV chemo. I had no idea. I expected to be back to normal after I recovered from surgery. Nope. I’m looking at feeling this endless fatigue and weakness for another 6 months.
I’m so tired I can barely do my job. Or take care of my family. Or get a good night’s sleep. Everything I’m doing to kill all the cancer and keep it from returning has absolutely altered my life in a way I never wanted.
Cancer has altered the lives of those around me. Michael carries a huge load for our family. He has always been incredible at sharing the load of parenthood, but for the past year he has had to do even more. Even when he’s tired and almost has nothing left to give, he continues to give even more. I’m constantly in awe of the man I married.
I can’t be the wife and mom and teacher I want to be. My mom can’t be the fun nana she wants to be- just being here for fun times and spoiling the kids. She is a third parent in our home and I’m certain she never saw that coming. My kids don’t get the most energized or most patient mom they deserve. I’m glad the babies won’t remember this time because I certainly didn’t do every night time feeding like I did for the big kids. I just couldn’t.
As a Christian, I don’t believe God gave me this cancer as a punishment or lesson. I think cancer is a product of our broken world and if I can or if I ever figure out what caused it, I will do everything in my power to prevent it from happening to my loved ones. Or anyone. Because cancer alters lives. Forever.
I hope in 10 years I look back and see this as a season. But I can’t right now. It’s all consuming, every minute of every day when my body is absolutely failing me.
I recently came across this song that perfectly puts into words the pain that I’m feeling and the hope I have in Jesus. Read these gorgeous lyrics of the chorus and take a listen to this song sometime.
Flowers by Samantha Ebert
So I brought it up in a desperate prayer
Lord, why are you keeping me here?
Then He said to me, “Child, I’m planting seeds
I’m a good God and I have a good plan
So trust that I’m holding a watering can
And someday you’ll see that flowers grow in the valley”
So whatever the reason, I’m barely getting by
I’ll trust it’s a season knowing that you’re by my side
Every step of the way
And I’ll be okay
I know I’ll be okay. 🩷
Jesus- be near to me and my family. Help lift our spirits when the grief is too much. Help my body rest enough each day to do it all over again. Thank you for the people that love me when I’m at my worst. Thank you for continuing to sustain me. I can’t wait to see the flowers that grow is this deep valley. Soon. Amen.
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