Six Years Out
Today I am grateful for my health and to be able-bodied and mobile. I am also grateful for the perspective that difficult life experiences can help bring to my consciousness.
In May of 1985, one disease had me. In May of 2008, a second disease entered my life. I hadn't asked to become an alcoholic and I certainly didn't ask to become a breast cancer patient. But there it was. One of my biggest fears becoming reality. Six years ago today I heard "You have cancer."
Two of my seven sisters had faced similar diagnoses in 2004 and 2006. We are among the fortunate, all three plugging along in life all these years later. There are no guarantees, for anyone, but I guarantee you that since May of 2008 I have had a different perspective on what "the promise of a new day" means.
It's like driving down the interstate and looking for the exit you want, but instead you have to veer off and take a different exit you really didn't plan to take. You feel lost and alone, it's getting dark out, and if there are signs to guide you, you can't see them. That's what the first few days after my diagnosis felt like. Life had veered off the road I chose and now I needed to slow down, keep two hands on the steering wheel and two eyes on the road and proceed with caution.
I was blessed with wonderful support from family and friends, medical professionals I trusted, and a strong faith that was in place before my diagnosis and has only gotten stronger since. Today I am blessed to be living life fully. I try to be grateful for the gift of each day. It shouldn't take a cancer diagnosis to drive that point home, but too often we have to be shook up to wake up. Today, I will try to be awake and grateful.
To close, here is a link to my blog post one year ago today. It includes two poems about perspective.
In May of 1985, one disease had me. In May of 2008, a second disease entered my life. I hadn't asked to become an alcoholic and I certainly didn't ask to become a breast cancer patient. But there it was. One of my biggest fears becoming reality. Six years ago today I heard "You have cancer."
Two of my seven sisters had faced similar diagnoses in 2004 and 2006. We are among the fortunate, all three plugging along in life all these years later. There are no guarantees, for anyone, but I guarantee you that since May of 2008 I have had a different perspective on what "the promise of a new day" means.
It's like driving down the interstate and looking for the exit you want, but instead you have to veer off and take a different exit you really didn't plan to take. You feel lost and alone, it's getting dark out, and if there are signs to guide you, you can't see them. That's what the first few days after my diagnosis felt like. Life had veered off the road I chose and now I needed to slow down, keep two hands on the steering wheel and two eyes on the road and proceed with caution.
I was blessed with wonderful support from family and friends, medical professionals I trusted, and a strong faith that was in place before my diagnosis and has only gotten stronger since. Today I am blessed to be living life fully. I try to be grateful for the gift of each day. It shouldn't take a cancer diagnosis to drive that point home, but too often we have to be shook up to wake up. Today, I will try to be awake and grateful.
To close, here is a link to my blog post one year ago today. It includes two poems about perspective.
Comments
Post a Comment