A Path Through

As I have mentioned in a few blogs, learning to live as a cancer survivor is something that requires adjustment.  Cancer takes you from a point of innocence, throws you into a whirlwind surreal existence as you battle this enemy, and as you hopefully emerge victorious (battered, beaten but alive) you must now learn to live with the memories of what you have been through while figuring out how you find your footing on what is a new life for you.    

I have shared previously that I have yet to reach a point of normality in my life since I stepped on to the path of recovery.  However, in retrospect I think that this may be my issue as I am seeking “normality” and I don’t believe this word actually exists anymore.   Additionally, I would be so bold to say that this is applicable not only the person who physical fought cancer, but also those who supported them through the battle.

Two weeks ago I had an appointment with a Rheumatologist in follow up to the full body pains I struggled with earlier this year.  As with most of my appointments, Mr.Positive Pants (aka my wonderful husband) was with me.  Of course the goal in this appointment was to be told that the pain was related to post chemo impacts, my body was now in perfect condition, and as a result of this incredible news, I would skip out of the appointment and be greeted by rainbows, little birds and fluffy forest creatures happily singing like a Disney fairytale.   Yes, I had very attainable and reasonable expectations for this appointment.

On a positive note, the doctor did confirm that the challenges from the start of the year were most likely chemo reminding me that being “done” did not equate to being “gone” from my body.  He was also beyond impressed with how well I have done since completing treatment, considering all I had been through.  Yes….he thought I was pretty awesome…and I knew I liked him the moment he walked through the door.

He went on to speak to a few things that I expected, including the fact that I had developed post-chemo arthritic impacts in my hands.  This was not a surprise as I had seen changes in my day to day life and the issues were completely manageable.

However, it was another point in the appointment that hit close to home.  It was when he spoke to the impacts of stress and fatigue on arthritis, which went hand in hand with the PTSD associated with battling something like cancer.  At this point, he looked squarely at my husband and stated that PTSD would apply to him and our family as we have ALL lived through a trauma.

Yup, the gloves were off and reality hit me square in the face. As much as I knew this to be true in the dark and quiet parts of my busy mind, it killed me to hear it said by someone who was able to see our life through unbiased glasses. It was also the first time one of my physicians had brought my family in to the diagnosis. He did not have to dance around the fact that this miserable unwanted invader that came into our lives, had left a mark on more than just my chest. It has scarred my family. The people who I love more than life itself. And at that moment my hatred for this thing that invaded our lives grew.

Now, please let me say that I do not live in a fluffy happy marshmallow world that had me believing that the past year and a half did not impact my family. In fact, I am acutely aware of the scope of impact as we live and breathe daily.

PTSD – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder….. four words that represented our new sense of ”UNnormal”.

So what does I mean when I say I am aware of the impacts? Well here is a small snippet.

To start, my 13 year old daughter developed crippling anxiety that presented itself on the day that I was told that I was cancer free. After an emergency room visit and follow up visit, our physician helped us understand that all she was holding on to, finally broke free at a point where she felt safe enough to actually feel and process what was happening. Currently, she is unable to handle any moment where I am not “100%” and the slightest degree of fatigue or hint of an ache or pain will send her to a point of constant “are you okays”. I am also the recipient of endless text messages or calls if I do not respond to her messages immediately. My daughter lives in fear of loosing me.

My 15 year old son is just now slowly starting to talk about the emotional impacts of watching me have seizures and the fear he felt knowing he could not help me. Even now when he jokingly calls me a “danger to society” as I wobble about on chemo nerve damaged toes, he is the first to grab me if I seem the slightest off balanced. My son wants desperately to protect me from what almost took me away from him.

Both of my children are now acutely aware of their OWN aches and pains, and have asked to see our doctor more in the past year than since I used to bring them them for their regular little people check ups. My children are afraid that they too may get sick. That the little pain may be an ugly disease that would require them to fight for their lives as this is what they saw happen to their mom.

Then…there is my husband….my rock….the guy who has been there through it all.  The man who watched the good…the bad…and the ugly.  He has been the poster child for the wedding vow “in sickness and in health”.  He has never allowed me to see the cracks in his positive pant exterior, well almost never. Rather, he has kept me looking forward, and pushed his own fears down in the process.  Even now, he will simply say he does not want to talk about it as we made it through. He will only focus on the fact that I will be around for our golden years telling him to pick up his socks.  My husband of 18 years is unwilling to even think, let alone talk about a world where I am not by his side.

This is an example of the UN-normal of our post cancer life.  This is what this disease has done to my family….my battle scarred beaten up brood.   

This is just a glimpse of the impacts of what WE went through and what WE are living.

The sad part is, that in looking at the above, I have not even started to unpack my own impacts…and the fact that as much as I try, I am struggling with…well…ALL of it.

Yes, it is a challenge to go to the appointments, and the scans, and deal with the aches or pain that continues along the path of recovery and I expected that.  In fact I was warned about it from those who have walked the path ahead of me.  I knew that being nervous and anxious would be part of my new life.

However, there is so much more….I am struggling with so much…MORE.

It is being unable to hear that someone who I have known has passed from cancer that started in the breast as I allow myself to wonder if my fate will be similar. It is being unable to watch breast cancer awareness commercials without going to a dark place that allows me to think I will need to fight this battle again. It is being unable to see myself in a baseball cap as it brings nothing but anxiety as I look in the mirror and see only a reminder of illness. It is being unable to use a YETI mug that was with me through chemo as all I remember is the ice machine in the chemo room (yes I loved it) and WHY I was there. It is struggling with the reality of being given an AMAZING gift of life, but I am too busy with work and a life cluttered with though of cost of living, interest rates, gas prices, and other things that should not rank ahead of having my life back. It is looking in the mirror and seeing only scars, but not remembering how hard I fought and that the scars are a badge of honor, not sadness. It is being a wife and a mother who was unable to protect those I love from all of this. It is moments of fear that result in anger and guilt as I promised myself I would not allow any of this to happen…yet it has… and it has happened because I am human and I have been through a trauma. WE have been through a trauma.

Now before this gets too serious, to clarify this is not a “oh look at my poor life and pity me” blog.  However, at the start of this journey I committed to sharing my experience with honesty and humour and there is nothing more honest that saying that cancer…comes with some MAJOR baggage and not the really nice high end kind that people consider taking from the baggage carrousel as it is so pretty.  Nope, we are talking the baggage that is kept together with duct tape and your dirty underwear is sticking out of a hole in the bottom….it is THAT kind of baggage.

To be very honest, I am in awe of those who will share how they immediately dealt with cancer and the next day were back to life as normal. I also think they are fibbing…but hey I am still in awe! I actually think that these people are a bit like those “Pinterest Moms” that post online photos of the wonderful school lunches that they make for their kids in which they have folded the napkins in an ornate origami swan, the veggies are all cut in different animal shapes and the hand rolled vegan sushi rolls have been molded into shapes of different countries in order to inspire their child to “learn while they eat”. However, the reality is that the food is fake, they have no kids, and they actually binge eat McDonalds in their closets. You know, the people who seem perfect, as this is what they want you to believe, but in reality…they are normal just like you and me (except I don’t eat McDonalds…and I try NOT to eat in my closet)….they just don’t want to admit that their world is not as perfect as they are trying to make you believe. Why they are afraid to show the scars….I do not know.

So here I sit, there is not false pretense as to what the path to recovery is for me or my family. 

I will acknowledge that at the start of this journey, I referenced on a few occasions that I would not allow fear to get to me.  However, as has been the case with this entire experience, I am constantly learning about how little I really knew at the time about the path I was on.  I knew this would not be a picnic in the park (with the aforementioned vegan sushi), but I was naïve.  I was also unable to accept my lack of control over the impacts that this journey would have on those around me.  The funny part is, they knew what was going to happen, they knew they were scared, and they did all they could to keep this from me as they needed me to focus on MY fight, not on them which they knew I would desperately want to do.  These wonderful, beautiful people I love also knew that when the time was right, WE would heal together. 

And there you have it.  The PTSD cat is officially out of the bag and my family is slowly starting to figure out how we move through the next steps on this journey.  However, we do this knowing that as we navigate the path through, we will do this walking side by side, supporting each other with each step we take….as very honestly, this is the only way we would want it.