Jillian

It’s my first loss since becoming an advocate. I knew in June when I got there, that this was me beginning to walk in purpose and that it was going to come at a cost. So many amazing women-at different places in their journey. Some 10 years out, some 10 months out. Some in the midst. Some returning to treatment, many struggling with side effects, and several living with it. Day in and day out, accepting that it will eventually take them but not today. Ladies so alive, stepping out in strength, to share their story so that we can eradicate this ugly awful thing that has derailed us, stolen from us, but made us stronger.

The cancer community is so interesting to me, because cancer does not discriminate. When you walk into the chemo room, it’s raw humanity. All races, genders, socio-economic levels, all in a fight to live. In its own way, it’s a beautiful picture of the human spirit. What I have found is that cancer brings out who you really are. It either makes you bitter, ugly, and angry or it becomes a chrysalis where you transform into this beautiful creation with this ability to love well and see beauty that others cannot.

The advocacy community is full of people who want their cancer experience to mean something. People who live on purpose and seek to share their stories, so there will be less stories. Advocacy costs. It means that you don’t put your cancer in a box and never think about it. It means you’re actively taking it OUT of the box on a regular basis. You’re talking about things that are hard, things that you yourself are still mourning, struggling with, afraid of, and wish never even happened. You are making yourself vulnerable in hopes that others will hear and just maybe that one person will take action. You are walking into hard spaces, where people are still being treated and dealing with life altering side effects that you’re still processing yourself. You are meeting amazing fighters and letting them know that you don’t have all the answers but that they are not alone. These fighters become your tribe. They become your family. And when you meet one, you know it. You know it because their spirit permeates the air and it’s like looking in a mirror.

I “met” Jillian online back in the spring. I had seen this amazing photo of her on the Cervivor page, where she was showing her scars and ostomy bag. At the time I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to keep my bladder. I was preparing for the worst but hoping for the best. I found her story online and there were similarities. Same stage, SO MANY bladder and kidney problems. I found her on Facebook and reached out to ask questions, as I did with a couple of the other Cervivors who I found with severe radiation damage. Much to my surprise at the time, when I reached out to these women, they actually reached back. Wow. These women and their stories made their way into my mind and heart. I felt stronger for speaking with them. I felt like whatever was next for me, I could do it. They were living so bravely and if they could it, so could I.

Jillian used humor and I was so relieved. So many of our post treatment issues, with cervical cancer, revolve around pee, poop, butts, and vaginas….I had personally found humor but Jillian was the first one to break the ice with me there and make me feel like it was okay to be scared and to laugh at the same time. She had such a balance of honesty and humor. She made me feel normal and like whatever was coming my way, that it didn’t mean my life was over. I could live and thrive with a bag, if that was going to keep cancer out of my body.

Her interaction with me in those moments, meant the world to me. It was Cervivors like Jillian, who drew me into this community. Her spirit and strength will live on, in so many ways-in her boys and those closest to her. For me, I will take her kindness, laced with humor.  I will throw the life line to other Cervivors out there, letting them know they are not alone.  She made a difference in my journey, and I will share my story, and share my story, and share my story, until I have no breath. Until there are no more Jillians. I will walk in this purpose. I have counted the cost and will continue to walk with a vengeance. 

By the time Cervivor School came around, I was well enough to go but she wasn’t able to make it. After a message about watching the poop come out of her bag (I’m telling you this was woman was so funny!), she told me “don’t worry, we’ll meet soon.” I knew she was sick and I knew that it was not looking good.

I got a message from her in July. It was a poem that had been circulating that was written by a young girl with terminal cancer, in a New York hospital.  For me, I have gone back and read it many times since. Little did Jillian know that I was still struggling and needed this to push me, to live my best life after cancer:

SLOW DANCE

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round? Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground? Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight? Or gazed at the sun into the fading night? You better slow down. Don't dance so fast. Time is short. The music won't last. Do you run through each day on the fly? When you ask, “How are you?” Do you hear the reply? When the day is done, do you lie in your bed, with the next hundred chores running through your head? You'd better slow down Don't dance so fast. Time is short The music won't last. Ever told your child, We'll do it tomorrow? And in your haste, Not see his sorrow? Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die Cause you never had time To call and say,'Hi' You'd better slow down. Don't dance so fast. Time is short. The music won't last.. When you run so fast to get somewhere, You miss half the fun of getting there. When you worry and hurry through your day, It is like an unopened gift.... Thrown away. Life is not a race. Do take it slower Hear the music Before the song is over.

Read Jillian's Cervivor Story

The Table

As I boarded the plane, I could feel it. The excitement of MONTHS, almost a YEAR of waiting was coming to an end. I knew that I was about to have an experience of a lifetime and deep down, I knew my life would never be the same. I had virtually met many of the ladies I was about to spend the weekend with, but only one of them had I met in person. I was nervous but the good kind of nervous. After switching planes for my final destination, I got settled in my window seat and put on my headphones. I had my Wonder Woman headphones, which seemed apropos given my last year and where I was headed. I tried to just relax, as I knew the flight was short and the weekend was about to be busy. As I leaned back in my seat, I took a deep breath.  I kept seeing the faces of friends I was about to meet and anticipating the news ones. How did I even get here? Was this really about to happen?

I suddenly became really emotional. I had already cried reading all the posts from other Cervivors headed to Florida and the ones who were too sick to make it. I didn’t expect to feel this way. I had gone back to work from my bladder/vaginal surgery only three weeks prior and had been so busy working. Sleeping. Working. Sleeping. That was pretty much what my body could handle and I had just allowed myself to compartmentalize, to get through the very next thing. Suddenly, the very next thing was Cervivor School.

I had accidentally fallen into advocacy during treatment, and accidentally found myself among this amazing group of women who were just like me. Normal women-with cervical cancer. This group that was committed to sharing stories so that there would eventually not be women like us. How could it be that I had even had cervical cancer, met these women through a hashtag, and was now on a plane to go sit with them for three days? The thing that had almost killed me, had torn my life apart, destroyed my body, the thing I feared daily, the thing I wanted to forget-THAT is what I was getting ready to talk about and share for the weekend.

I cried. I cried because I was tired. I cried because I was excited. I cried because part of me wants to forget, but I know I never can. I cried because there were friends I knew wouldn’t be there because they were too sick. I just cried. And when I was done, I felt better. I felt ready.

Cervivor School was complete freedom for me. I didn’t have to explain to anyone how I felt because they all felt the same way. They felt like me and they wanted to MAKE A DIFFERENCE! All of us had different stories, but all of us wanted our stories to matter. Each of us had the desire to learn as much as we could from experts and one another, so that other people wouldn’t have to experience what we have gone through. That alone was a powerful thing to witness. (Plus, it was awesome to spend time at the pool and not worry about your body because most everyone there had bulges in the same places due to surgeries and treatment. SO FREEING)!

I could not have had this experience without the help of many people. A lot of them have asked me about my experience, and like any life changing experience it’s hard to sum it up in a few sentences. I like to sum it up with, I found my “me too” people. I found my forever tribe. I found this sisterhood that I had felt online, but became about a bazillion times stronger in person.

I have this image in my head now that is always there, because the table is always there. Always ready. The image of amazing warrior women, from around the world, sitting at a table. An image of women at varying stages of this war we are waging against cervical cancer and HPV. It’s a personal war. We are in our own fight for life, but we link arms to fight for women everywhere. We come to this table to rest, to renew, to fill up, to learn new battle strategies. We come for comfort and we come for the peace in knowing we are not alone. It's always there and in a sense, we never leave.

Real Talk Tuesday

Real talk Tuesday.

In 2012 I started a journey. I worked really hard to not be overweight. I worked really hard to be able to run half marathons, and do a 5k a few times a week to help maintain a healthy weight. I worked really hard to not be the person who made jokes to hide behind being uncomfortable in my body. I worked really hard to gain a balanced mindset of not being completely obsessed with food, yet being mindful of what’s going in and how it’s burned as fuel. I worked really hard to be comfortable in my own skin. Not skinny, but strong. I worked really hard to be physically and mentally strong. I worked hard to not size up a room to see if I was the biggest person there. I worked really hard to not feel judged for treating myself once a week. I worked really hard.

I went from running half marathons to......

Wearing long tops, black leggings, and layers-mostly to hide any leaks from my Depends. Oh and carrying more weight on my body and IN the giant bag with all the Depends and a change of clothes.

Cancer has taken a lot from me. However, I am bound and determined that it will NOT permanently derail the mindset I worked so hard to overcome. I am 37lbs heavier than I was when I first walked into the oncology office. NONE of my old clothes fit. I am heavy and tired. If I’m honest, sometimes I am tempted to give up-to feel sorry for myself and just sit down permanently.

When you think of cancer you think of someone bald, gaunt, and puking. THANKFULLY this was NOT me. Except for the puking. There was some puking but mainly heartburn and constipation from the pit of hell. I got through treatment with minimal weight gain-I mean I was really bloated from medication but felt like it was manageable and that I would be back to myself in no time.

Fast forward to after treatment, I was working really hard to get back to feeling like me again. The fatigue was so intense that it was a constant struggle to stay active and continue normal day to day activities. BUT I started working with an oncology trained nutritionist and making head way learning what was best for my post cancer body.  About the time I started gaining some momentum, I found out I still had cancer and needed surgery. The radical hysterectomy left my hormones jacked up and my body in a state of “woah” it had not had before. THEN, I had the abscess and THEN the fistula developed. Final result...my body is a mess. And guess what? Friday...like three days from now...I have another surgery. My stomach will be opened yet AGAIN and this time my leg is going to be messed up for a while since they are grafting tissue. <sigh>

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking what I keep trying to tell myself. YOU ARE ALIVE. All of the above. All of it. It had to happen in order for me to live. However, it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, when you’re in the midst of this battle for your mind. What I mean by that is that I feel like there is a constant battle for “how” I talk to myself. Yes, I realize that I am alive and here. The last thing I want to do is minimize that miracle. However, if I’m being real-being in my body right now is hard. It doesn’t look or feel the way it did before cancer and menopause. I had never experienced feeling like the vessel I’m in, isn’t me... until now. However, if I really think about it-it is very much me. It is where I am right now. It is what I have right now.

Cancer left me with a vessel that feels broken down, heavy, and tired. It’s going to get a little worse before it gets better, but it’s going to get better. There is a plan forward.

Had to document what I hope to be my last purchase of Depends for a LOOONG time!!

FORWARD!!!

Leaning into the Storm of Cancer

You may have read them-the “What Not to Say to People with Cancer” articles. I used to skim over them, thinking I was all good. Me? I would NEVER say anything to offend someone with cancer! I am a thoughtful person-I’m the person who won’t even tell someone I’m praying for them unless I can actively remember to do so, so yeah...I was good I didn’t need to read such articles.

WRONG!!

‘Cause guess what? When you’re on the other side and actually HAVE cancer and a gynecological one at that-AND one that is caused by a virus. Guess what? People say some crazy shit. Stuff you would never imagine would cross the lips of someone who is supposed to care about you. Now, as I stated, I see myself as a reasonable person-so most of this crap I worked really hard to brush off and tell myself, “Well, they are well intended. They didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” My counselor even worked with me on phrases to shut people down in person. She encourages me to tell people they are being jerks, but I am still trying to find that voice. Perhaps this is it, through this blog post. I usually just tell myself that people don’t mean it really,  and then later call my absolute closest people to vent or screenshot messages from people and type in all caps to my best friend. I have found lots of articles on this subject, yet when meeting other survivors it is often a main topic of conversation. It’s hard enough having freaking cancer, and managing the feelings of those who are the very closest. Much less managing idiots on the fringe, who think they “have to say something.” Why is that? I think it’s because no one really cares until it’s them or someone they love. Like really love. So if you’re reading this and think you don’t need to, then you’re the exact person who does. If you're gonna lean into this storm, be prepared to be uncomfortable and teachable.

Here are some common mistakes that I have personally experienced MORE than once.

1. If someone you know gets a diagnosis and you find yourself overwhelmed with not knowing what to say-figure that out before opening your mouth. What I mean is, if you’re not comfortable saying something, just wait. That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything right away and perhaps you’re in shock yourself and need sometime to gather your own emotions and thoughts. That is better than getting in front of the person, fumbling, and saying something trite. Survivors are fighting. Really fighting, real things-life and death stuff at any given moment. REAL. We don’t want to hear trite empty sayings-we know to hang in there, we know to keep our head up. Perhaps instead of throwing out a “chicken soup for the soul” comment you could say, “I’m thinking of you.” or “I’m here for you.” or something I personally appreciated was someone acknowledging my pain by saying something like “I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with this. This sucks.” or “I know things are really hard right now, I can’t imagine.” THOSE seem more real and do not minimize the person’s cancer. The prior ones, that are more of a “hang in there” often make the survivor feel like cancer is not a big deal, and that you’re equating it with having a bad week or day. If you are really close with the survivor just being WITH them can make a difference.
2. If someone you know gets a diagnosis of a gynecological cancer or oral cancer that is caused by HPV, they already feel the very real stigma of that. You turning up your nose and saying, “Isn’t that caused by an STD?” Or “Isn’t that preventable?” Yeah, that doesn’t help the survivor, makes them feel shame, guilt, and again minimizes the pain and fear they are feeling with a cancer diagnosis.
3. In my personal case, I had not had a pap in several years. They were a few people who said things like, “WHY?? Oh I bet your oncologist got all over you for that!!” To which I had to say(after picking my jaw up off the floor), “Actually no she didn’t. She encouraged me that I can’t change the past but can change the future. She didn’t shame me for choices I have already made.” Y’all, I would say this was one of the most hurtful. If your friend or loved one missed paps and abnormal cells have grown and she gets a full blown cancer diagnosis, the LAST thing she needs is YOU making her feel guilty for not staying on top of check ups. I personally have reasons why I didn’t go, which will need to be another post, but listen to me; while there may be truth in those words, when you’re facing CANCER, you do not need people in your life making you feel worse about ANYTHING.
4. If you are someone who is into alternative/preventive medicine, great. I am super into nutrition, highly believe in it and there is a place and time for that conversation. But only if the opportunity presents itself, or you are very close with the survivor, and you feel they are open. Walk lightly.  I had two people, independent from the other, tell me in the height of treatment, that I needed to eat more mushrooms and the other was pushing cloves. Again, I feel these people were well intended but honestly I am not super close with either of these people-one came in the form of a message and the person had not said boo to me the entire time, and the other was from someone who said this definitively, in passing. Y’ALL!!! Seriously?? Again, it  minimizes cancer and invalidates the survivors treatment. I understand that there are cases where the survivor has been in constant treatment for months/ years and there may be an opportunity for someone to say, “Hey, have you talked your doctor or thought about___?” But most of the time that is just not going to be your place unless you are walking very closely with the survivor.
5. If the loved one is diagnosed with a cancer that will or has the potential to make the survivor infertile, PLEASE don’t say “Well, there’s always adoption. Lots of kids out there need a home.” It’s not that this, among the other things are not true-it’s that when you are in the throws of cancer AND you’re losing fertility, it sucks. It’s painful. It’s so overwhelming and can make you feel sorrow on a level you weren’t sure even existed. To hear someone say, “Well, you can always adopt…” makes the survivor feel like their feelings and emotions of grief and sadness are not warranted and again, minimizes what they are facing. We KNOW there is adoption. We aren’t stupid, we are grieving a loss, a death of a dream that has been inside since we were little girls playing with baby dolls. Yes, there is adoption and it is oh so beautiful, but let us grieve and feel what we are losing.
6. Lastly, try to steer away from the, “If you need anything, let me know.” I know, you’re probably thinking, what is wrong with that?? Well, you see when you get a cancer diagnosis you are completely overwhelmed and your brain is in a thousand different places from-What am I going to do about work? How am I going to take care of my kids? How much is this going to cost? How long is this going to take? Am I going to die? For myself, I am already the person who is notorious for not asking for help and trying to do everything on my own, so I have grown a lot during this time. After talking with other survivors though, I have concluded that when someone is specific it is waay more helpful. For example, “I’m coming over on Tuesday to bring you food and will do any errands you need.” or “I am coordinating a dog walking schedule for you or a meal schedule for you.” or “I’m coming to take the kids on Friday night to a movie and dinner, so you don’t have to worry about that.” THOSE things are so helpful and takes the thinking responsibility from the survivor. The survivor doesn’t need something else to think about. Even the smallest gesture can go long way. Think about times when you yourself have been sick with something like the flu-what were some things that were hard for you to get done? Think about your survivor feeling like that long term, and get creative in some specific things you may be able to help with.

I guess my overall advice would be to be more quiet than not, if you’re feeling unsure. Be present for your survivor but don’t feel like you always have to have the “right words.” Sometimes not saying anything and just being-is the very best. I would even go as far to say, if you feel like you need to “say” something and you’re not sure...say THAT. I found so much comfort when people close and not that close to me said things like, “Holly, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say.”

A cancer diagnosis of any kind or stage is hard. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, think about how much more the person you love with cancer feels. I have found for myself and other survivors, you really find out who is legit and who’s not. It surprised me who leaned in and who steered away. If you’re gonna lean in-be thoughtful and present. Your survivor may not have the ability to say it, but she needs you.

I have had an army of support and don't have pictures of everyone, but here are several of my people who chose to lean in. 

Dry Shampoo and Coffee

It’s Saturday morning and as I sit with coffee in hand, my mind is still on a reel from the past several weeks. The only thing that keeps coming to my mind is “How did I do that?” This month comes in, in at least the top three most stressful eras I have faced. I teach at what is considered a satellite campus for the district. The first week of school was a MONSTER. Did I mention the internet being down and parents impatiently making requests for registration that I could not grant and administrators frantically demanding paper work?  As a PreK teacher the first day is very chaotic and stressful as there are tears and often blood curdling screams from students and sometimes parents, who are emotional leaving their babies for the first time. This year was no different. Thankfully by day two internet had been restored and we were able to continue with enrollment (notice I said enrollment and not teaching…somehow I was expected to do both. I’m good but not that good). The building had flooded two weeks prior, so we had gotten in with JUST enough time to set up. Documents were damaged in the flood and paper work was missing that had to be redone for registration. I have many English language learners and really cannot explain to you how extremely stressful it is to walk refugee parents with limited language, through online registration. Yet, all of the above, oddly enough, are reasons I love my job. I love the population I serve in a Title 1 program. My heart is there. It thrives there. In the midst of the crazy and the stress, I was beginning to feel like me again. Not the cancer patient. Not that one teacher who had cancer and was out last spring. But me. The old me.'

In the middle of first week chaos, I had an oncology follow-up and results from the biopsies taken the week prior. Unfortunately, the news was not good. Cancer remains. Right now the treatment will be surgery and depending on how surgery goes maybe another round of chemotherapy. My heart is so thankful for an oncologist who will sit and talk to me. Who will shoot straight with me, who I feel has my best interest at heart. I am beyond thankful for a plan forward. I trust her with my very life.

Yet…I am so sick of being sick. Wasn’t I JUST starting to gain some energy? Wasn’t I JUST feeling like me again? And now major surgery?? I am tired of this. I long for normalcy, but I don’t even know what that is. I was looking through photos last night and can’t even pinpoint when things changed. I can kind of get it within a few months, but not really. Part of me wants things to go back to how it was before cancer, but I know I never can. And would I really choose that anyway?  I am not the same person. I don’t even feel like I look like the same woman and on a realistic note, it has aged the hell out of me. Inside, I am changed beyond what I can fully explain. Perspective shift is an understatement. I see absolutely nothing the way I did before. Nothing. Even the, “Oh wait, you still have cancer” thing looks and feels completely different on this side.  Before, cancer was unknown. I didn’t even want to say the word. I was completely fearful, and unsure. I am still those things to an extent, but it feels more familiar. I have been around it a lot, which is the part that makes me feel comfortable yet afraid because I have watched with my eyes what it can do. The fact that mine is still hanging around is unnerving and yes, I am afraid. Yet there IS a plan forward and reasons to be thankful.

Which leads me to lay out the constant conversation I have been having with myself the past few weeks….Can you be afraid and unsettled YET still thankful there is a plan? Can you admit fear and still have faith in the One who holds your very life? Can you admit your weakness, weariness, and frustration and STILL be thankful there is a plan forward in treatment? 

Every single one of those feels like they are in opposition to one another but I feel every single one of those-at any given moment. At any point during my recent days I have been on the verge of either tears of fatigue, tears of fear, tears of frustration, tears of thankfulness and humility, OR cursing out of frustration because people want to either act like I’m their hero (which can feel very uncomfortable) OR like NOTHING has happened, or cursing out of frustration that I have been feeling more like me and now I am getting my legs kicked in again. Now, you tell me….does THAT sound like someone who trusts in God’s plan for her life? Does that look like someone who has it together and is holding fast to her faith?

How beautiful and amazing, that the answer to those questions is a big fat NO…..yet a big fat YES at the same time? See, God is showing me that admitting my weakness is actually strength. Y’all, I’m talking about the kind of weakness where you cry out in tears, throw up your hands, and yell out some F bombs because you got nothing. I’m talking about admitting that you are terrified that cancer will not ever fully go away and you’re bound to a life of treatment. I’m talking about admitting that you don’t understand why God chose you to carry this burden, even if just for a season. I’m talking about weakness, where you say “I’m confused by God’s choice for ME to not have biological kids, but I see first-hand, every day, selfish adults who appear to be baby factories.” I’m talking about asking God why He asked me to do this for a little bit longer.

The beauty of it is that when our hearts get to that point and we are stripped naked with nothing left to hold on to-and we admit out weakness, we have a choice. We can either continue to wallow in those questions and live in limbo and anger OR we can choose to lay them at the feet of the One who made us. Think about it. He made me. He knows I am pissed. He knows I am scared and afraid. He knows I am wondering how in the world He will redeem this? The absolute beauty of the gospel is that I can be honest with Him, He can hold me in my weakness and that I am may NEVER understand any of this….but He will hold me. AND in my weakness, I may crawl out of His lap several times a day, thinking “I got this” “I can do this now”….. and when I finally start seeing how very much “I don’t have it” and how “I can’t do it, “ He scoops me right back up and I bury my head in His lap and weep.

The truth is, I am no one’s hero. I am weak. I do not have it together in any way. I just admitted to you that I am basically on the verge of either tears or cursing, at any given moment. I am not “doing great” and I feel like I hobble home every day and hobble around my house and then fall into bed. I really am mostly dry shampoo and coffee.

The only thing I know for sure, is that my heart desires to stay in His lap. I fail miserably at this daily, sometime multiple times. Maybe you do too? Is that okay? Does that make your faith weak? Does asking questions make you weak? I have personally never felt so close to God than I do now. It’s funny how that is. I have not been able to attend church regularly since February, I have said more F bombs in the last 8 months than I ever have in my life, I am admitting that there is a lot I do not understand and a lot that I want to go away, I am admitting that I am weak and want this cup to pass, and yet….He is with me. Daily I feel Him more than ever. As I hobble around my life, every moment I am aware of His presence and that only by His provision and goodness, am I here. He is here.

A flower I found on a walk this week.

Luna keeping me company after biopsy surgery.

Unexpected Freedom

I just came from lunch with a close friend. We have known one another for a few years now, and there is much comfort in knowing that someone knows your junk and chooses to stick around. As usual our lunch turned into 2 and half hours of us sharing life and all the craziness it brings.

One of the ideas we camped around today, was sometimes our heart truly desires things that are good, yet we may or may not ever get said thing. I’m not even talking about actual things. Without throwing my friend under the bus, I’ll just use myself as an example. I am 37. The last person that I actually dated(until recently), I got engaged to. He was incredible. We started planning our wedding, going to pre-marital counseling, discussing how our lives would merge as a married couple, making plans to start a family etc. He made me feel like I was the only woman on the planet. He knew what he wanted, and he wanted me…until suddenly he didn’t. And he dumped me. I won’t say “clear out of the blue” because there was some discord there for about a week, prior, but who doesn’t argue? Arguing doesn’t mean you quit. To me if felt out of the blue, because it was nothing that couldn’t be addressed and dealt with-if you love someone. But alas, he broke our engagement and contact with me, without a lot of answers and I have had to learn to deal with not understanding what happened. To let go of trying to fill in the giant gaps and to accept the apology that I never got and probably never will. Fast forward about 9 months and I get a cancer diagnosis. I am single and having to make decisions about my reproductive health, alone.

So, I say all of that to say-my heart desires to be married. That is a not a bad thing. I don’t even desire it above all. Trust me-after the last go around (and some full on jokers in between who wanted to jerk me around), I really would be more than okay. I can do my Netflix and hang out with Luna-and run lots of miles. I can serve others and find so much joy in my job. I realize that happiness is not found in finding a spouse and that I can live a fulfilling life that is God honoring, without a husband. Totally get that. BUT I sure would like one. My heart desires it. On super practical levels, it’s hard getting the groceries in when I buy dog food. I want a man to help me. Sometimes I forget that I need gas and its 9pm on Sunday-I have to choose to either go out again, or get up earlier. I want a man to help me. I also hate taking the dog out in the rain and giant bugs. I could totes use a man, y’all. Haha! AND I realize what all of this actually communicates is that it’s hard being alone. I CAN be alone. I am more than capable, but I don’t necessarily WANT to be alone. My heart desires marriage (and for more than help with the dog food). J For whatever reason, this has not happened for me yet and may not happen for me. I remember going to a wedding a couple of years ago, on my birthday. These friends were amazing and made for one another. I really was so very happy for them. What I didn’t tell them, or anyone else I was there with, was that I had been dumped a year to the day (on my birthday), by a guy I dated for over a decade, who decided that “he just wasn’t sure about me being the one anymore, and he really wanted to date other people.” I remember feeling like my heart was literally broken and sick. There I sat, a year later at the wedding of two, fantastic people. I was happy for them, but it was hard to be there. Inside my heart still hurt and questioned why it had not happened for me yet.

Today at lunch, those are the kinds of “things” my friend and I were discussing and questions we were asking ourselves. See, I think true friends do their best to hold up mirrors to one another, in love, and have hard conversations. So today, we asked ourselves is it okay to be around others who have what we want and acknowledge the pain that may be caused by our heart’s desire not being fulfilled? Or is that comparing? Is that coveting what someone else has? Shouldn’t I NOT be comparing myself? Shouldn't I just trust God?

I’m going to tell you what I told my friend today-and just like I told her, I am open to being wrong, but here is what I think. I think it’s absolutely okay to acknowledge the pain in our heart’s due to an unfulfilled desire. The person I was a year ago, would not have said that. I would have been afraid to admit that I was even mad at Him for not giving me what everyone else seem to have, with such ease. BUT, I am learning that God created us with all of these desires and emotions and its okay to lament.  There is a whole book in the Bible on it…and it’s there on purpose. It’s okay to say to God-why not me? Why is this happening? Have you forgotten me?  How cool that in Psalm 57 David hid in a cave, yelling at God, afraid for us life, because people he loved had turned their backs on him-he wondered if God had left him, didn’t see him? And yet God called him a “man after My own heart.” Y’all that’s cool and gives me freedom and hope. Now, it doesn’t give us freedom to hate or resent other people who have what our heart desires, but it does give us permission to feel the hurt and pain, and ask our questions.

As a church goer my entire life I often missed the point. I used to be so caught up in the “is this a sin?” question that I would gloss over pain sometimes in fear that it’s wrong to feel hurt by God. Or get so legalistic in my head, that I would drive myself nuts in trying to figure out if I was wrong to have certain “feelings” like He had abandoned me. I found the safest place to yell at Him and pitch a fit, is in His arms. I found healing in throwing out f-bombs, shaking my fists in furry, while wallowing in His lap. The truth is He hasn’t abandoned any of us, but sometimes it sure feels like it. I don’t know why He allows what He does. I think of my friends who have lost spouses and children. I think of people I met at chemo who are not getting better. I think of agonizing horrible experiences people have had like rape and abuse.  I consider myself and not able to conceive because of stupid cancer. My mind cannot wrap itself around some things, like a soldier seeing entire villages burned to the ground or watching a brother die by his side. Y’all life can be hard, messy, and confusing. It can hurt badly. It can feel like He has turned His face. It’s okay to say that. It’s okay to be a Christian and say that. The absolute beauty to me, is that He knows, and continues to extend Himself to us-which makes it entirely okay to allow yourself to feel and grieve. After this year, I can say with embarrassment, that it has taken a broken engagement and cancer to pry some of these things out of my hands. So I understand that it’s not easy. Cancer put things in perspective rather quickly and has a tendency to shed light on all the bull shit, on all the levels.  It’s crazy that something so scary can make you STOP, and feel His grace and mercy. How a doctor looking in your face, saying you have three years without treatment, gives you freedom to experience that grace and mercy in your life.-sans legalism. I hate to make every conversation about cancer, but it’s kind of a big deal and has completely shifted my world view for life. Pain, abandonment, and cancer has lead me to MORE hope and freedom. Weird. 

Amy gave me this stone at Valentine's Day ,the week I found out the cancer had spread to tissue surrounding the tumor.
Surgery was no longer an option. Conceiving was no longer an option. Yet there is Hope.

Choices.

Everyone says they want real. They want authentic. I always hear people complaining that social media is a highlight reel and causes us to compare ourselves with one another’s best. When in reality, we never show the double chins, kids screaming, dinner fails, fights caused by miscommunication, piles of laundry, muffin tops, messy living rooms….you know, all the “real stuff.” Wouldn’t it be great if we had a day for this?? I mean just one DAY! Everything else gets a day (I mean, really not sure when that started happening, but we even have National Cat Day. Seriously?). On this day we could all post pictures of our failures, bad hair days, pictures from the worst angles, fights with our loved ones, you get the idea. I seriously think this needs to happen. #reallife

Anyway, today I want to be real. I try my best to be honest and authentic with people, BUT I often don’t tell the whole story of what may be happening-as to avoid over sharing or just saving face (Hey, I’m a southern girl, we are the BEST at this).

Today I’m avoiding. Actually I’ve been avoiding for several weeks. After chemo and radiation, I found myself not knowing what to do in the day to day. For two months, my job was to get out of bed and go to treatment, take my medication, and drink ALL of my water. That was what I was to do. I knew I needed to go to bed at a decent hour because the next morning, I had to get up and make sure there was time to eat breakfast/have coffee and drink enough water before my radiation appointment. I found myself looking forward to going to the cancer center every day. I live alone and it gets lonely. I have amazing friends who were constantly in touch, but it was hard and still is. Going to the Center was awesome because not only did I get to socialize, everyone there understood me. I didn’t have to explain that my hair was oily because I could not bear the thought of washing it-getting out of bed was all I could do that day. I didn’t have to explain anything because cancer was everywhere and it felt like home.

Port Surgery

Last day of chemo

Radiation Crew for Internal/External Treatments

Now, I am done and hopefully forever. While most people would be looking forward to going back to work in a couple of weeks, I am a teacher and summer break starts in a few days. I am so happy that means that I get paid and really do get a significant time to recover. However, I am struggling. The day to day is hard. Finding purpose is hard. I have started back running, but man….it is a challenge and totally sucks right now. I keep at it, because I want to get back to the fitness level I was before all of this crashed into my life. I want to hang out with people, but at the same time I get so frustrated sometimes, even with those close to me. I want to talk about cancer all the time, but I never want to talk about cancer. (Makes so much sense, right?) I start feeling like no one understands and I begin to withdraw. People don’t understand that just because treatment is done, that I am not fine. Am I alive?? Yes. But y’all let me tell you what dealing with the aftermath of a cervical cancer diagnosis looks like: it looks like dealing with radiation side effects that I will live with including but not limited to infertility, fatigue so great that you have to fight  your way through normal activities, guilt and joy of having hair, guilt and joy that your treatment seemed to work, having a renewed sense of joy for life BUT being seriously paralyzed from the trauma you just went through, and of course the lingering sting of having cervical cancer and the scarlet “A” that comes with it.

So, if I am being real-like everyone wants, I struggle with avoiding. A very practical example: The hospital bills have started to pile up (literal piles)and I need to start writing checks, look at money for the next couple of months, and get started on those. BUT I avoid. It's overwhelming-the pile is overwhelming, the financial end is overwhelming. In my head, I know what to do. BUT I avoid.

And avoiding makes me feel guilty.

So, I am choosing to consciously make choices that are good for me, in hopes that those will spill over into other tasks-like not procrastinating medical bills. The running is good for me. Making myself go to lunch with friends, is good for me. Eating healthy is good for me. Stretching out weekly errands so there is somewhere to go every day and continuing to see my wonderfully awesome counselor, Tiffany. These are good things, that are helpful and make a difference. 

First post treatment run. Hardest run of my life.

But see, I have to choose these things. I have to constantly be aware and choose the best thing, even if it sucks. I think we always have to choose, it’s just some seasons are so great we don’t even have to think about it. It’s second nature to look at something, acknowledge its difficulty, and tackle it. And some seasons are so hard that we are aware of every choice, every breath, every move. If I’m real, I mess up a lot and don’t choose the best thing, BUT I’m learning to have grace with myself-like I do with people I love and care about. I’m learning to talk to myself like someone I love. I’m learning that I am enough-even when I’m not. I’m choosing to see the cup half full and embrace the new normal after cancer. I’m getting to know this new girl. Me.