I Have, What?

6 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, my mom and I were woken up in our emergency room bay by a doctor we had not met yet. He proceeded to tell me that they found a mass in my colon, along with “many” spots on my liver. He said it was cancer, and we were looking at stage four. 

I’m 26 years old at this time. I have a job I just was promoted at that I enjoy. I had been going to the gym religiously and was in the best shape of my life. I had vacations and concerts planned. I was in therapy and felt like the best version of myself. This wasn’t a part of any plan I had. 

That’s the thing about the c-word, it doesn’t care. It doesn’t care about the plans you have, the people you love, your hopes and dreams. It only cares about one thing: growing.

I know this sounds pretty dark so far and that’s how it was for me for a long time. Dark. Terrifying. Numbing. It wasn’t until I switched my mindset to focus on what I had instead of what I was missing, that things started to change for me.

That first week was the worst for me. To wait for official biopsy results was excruciating. I laid on an air mattress in my living room all day and all night with my mom forcing me to eat, my younger siblings trying to comfort me, and my friends and family showing up not knowing what to say but being there anyways. When I got my official biopsy report, we hit the ground running. 

Over the next two years, I would receive 25 rounds of systemic chemo, a surgery to remove a foot of my colon, a liver resection, the placement of a Hepatic pump, and 6 rounds of chemo directly to my liver. I have been so sick I have been hospitalized, so weak I had to be carried to the bathroom, and so depressed I cried for days on end. Cancer treatment is HARD. I just received the news yesterday that I am able to move to “maintenance chemo” which means chemo pills at home, with less harsh side effects. I cried when I found this out, I didn’t know if this would ever be a possibility for me.

When I was initially diagnosed, it was bad. Really, really bad. If you look up the prognosis for my condition, 9 months would be considered lucky. I spent my 9-month anniversary in the Grand Canyon. I just celebrated my 2 year anniversary at Siesta Key Beach. It’s pretty freaking cool.

Remember what I said about focusing on what I had? These anniversaries are big deals to me. A lot of people in my position are not as lucky as me. They don’t respond to treatment, they aren’t able to get adequate treatment, they don’t have a support system like mine to cheer me on every step of the way. Sure, I grieve a lot of the things I don’t have. The ability to carry a child, the more than likely opportunity to grow old with my husband, peace of mind. They are real feelings that need to be acknowledged and worked through. But they don’t overshadow the things that I have because I don’t allow them to. 

I have a new outlook on life. I have a grateful heart every single morning. To wake up each day is a gift to me. Being able to watch milestones of my siblings' lives, my friends making their own families, loving on my dogs-I don’t take it for granted. My husband and I often say we are “thankful for an ordinary day”. Cancer has caused new relationships, new experiences, and new depths of feelings I didn’t know existed. 

I know what some of you are thinking reading this- “this isn’t how it is for everyone”. I’m telling you, it can be. Cancer or no cancer none of us are promised tomorrow. I have seen people I love leave this world in freak accidents and unpredicted medical issues. Whether you have 6 months left or 60 years left, it will feel so much better to try to focus on the joy in life instead of the despair.

I have had a motto I have stuck by since I was first diagnosed. When the mornings were too hard for me, the appointment didn’t go well, or I was in a bad head space I would remind myself there is more to the day. I know people say to take it one day at a time but even that was overwhelming for me. Instead, I like to take life “One Half Day at a Time”. This is a marathon, not a sprint. 

I’m rooting for you all.

Photo courtesy of author.