A Date in Common
Today I am grateful for an enjoyable bike ride yesterday afternoon, and for the fellow recovering people I can reach out to when I need some clarity and redirection. Literally, they are at my fingertips via text messages.
Today my sister Leonice will have her 25th and last round of radiation. That will wrap up the active treatment of her endometrial cancer. It started in May with the first of six rounds of chemotherapy. I knew that my last round of chemo had happened around this time in 2008, and upon further investigation, my hunch was confirmed. We share an end date to our cancer treatment--
November 13.
We share conversations and we share some common ground only those who have lived in Cancerland can share. We may have some similar feelings about it all, and know some similar fears for sure.
But we have each had to take our own single, solitary cancer journey as well. Just like our sisters Zita and Mary Jo. Just like I was the one sitting in that chemo chair nine years ago getting that IV started in my arm, Leonice will be the one going into that room today getting radiation beamed at her body.
I remember so many mixed emotions and wide-ranging thoughts throughout my active cancer treatment. I was relieved when chemo was done, but also hesitant to see it finish. I felt like we-my medical team and I-were going after my BC full force when chemo was going on. I carried fear-filled questions in my head. Questions like "Did we do enough?" "Will my cancer recur or spread?"
I still live with these questions, and Leonice will have to as well. I sympathize with her and the freshness of her fears and the immediacy of her questions. There is no way around them once a cancer diagnosis lands in someone's life.
Yet, there is also no other way to get true perspective on certain things in life, like our real priorities, than to be faced with a diagnosis that forever shatters the sense of security about our physical health we may have had pre-diagnosis.
And one of the things I have known with more certainty, felt with more depth since my own diagnosis, is that each day is a gift. None of us know how many days we get. To wake up in this one and live it fully is all we can do.
Like we lived fully the days we spent together in late July, taking in the splendor of the Oregon Coast. Leonice had several chemo treatments behind her at this point.
Today my sister Leonice will have her 25th and last round of radiation. That will wrap up the active treatment of her endometrial cancer. It started in May with the first of six rounds of chemotherapy. I knew that my last round of chemo had happened around this time in 2008, and upon further investigation, my hunch was confirmed. We share an end date to our cancer treatment--
November 13.
We share conversations and we share some common ground only those who have lived in Cancerland can share. We may have some similar feelings about it all, and know some similar fears for sure.
But we have each had to take our own single, solitary cancer journey as well. Just like our sisters Zita and Mary Jo. Just like I was the one sitting in that chemo chair nine years ago getting that IV started in my arm, Leonice will be the one going into that room today getting radiation beamed at her body.
I remember so many mixed emotions and wide-ranging thoughts throughout my active cancer treatment. I was relieved when chemo was done, but also hesitant to see it finish. I felt like we-my medical team and I-were going after my BC full force when chemo was going on. I carried fear-filled questions in my head. Questions like "Did we do enough?" "Will my cancer recur or spread?"
I still live with these questions, and Leonice will have to as well. I sympathize with her and the freshness of her fears and the immediacy of her questions. There is no way around them once a cancer diagnosis lands in someone's life.
Yet, there is also no other way to get true perspective on certain things in life, like our real priorities, than to be faced with a diagnosis that forever shatters the sense of security about our physical health we may have had pre-diagnosis.
And one of the things I have known with more certainty, felt with more depth since my own diagnosis, is that each day is a gift. None of us know how many days we get. To wake up in this one and live it fully is all we can do.
Like we lived fully the days we spent together in late July, taking in the splendor of the Oregon Coast. Leonice had several chemo treatments behind her at this point.
End dates like today's are to be acknowledged, and the emotions that accompany them are to be acknowledged as well. I am guessing you will have a full range of them today dear sister. Sending my love, prayers, and a hug to you Leonice.
Lovely Lisa.
ReplyDeleteWhat a "coincidence."
Thanks for the perspective reminders.