Why I’m Not Fighting Cancer – Again.

I’m told I have breast cancer – invasive lobular carcinoma. Stage 2. The initial test results came through 7 days before the Celebration of Life I had planned for Ray – my husband for 37 years – who died on the fast track of a cancer found too late. I chose to put the news of my party crasher quietly on the backburner and go on with my plans to celebrate the LIFE I shared with this man. Maybe I am just too raw, with this overlapping Ray’s passing, but I’m not accepting the invitation to play war here. I’m not fighting cancer – again. I am LIVING while I navigate this next chapter in my LIFE as I learn to live it without his presence. What you say? Isn’t the battle with cancer about fighting for your life? No. Not when you STOP LIFE to fight it. Anyone who’s gone through this knows what I am talking about. A lot of stuff goes through your head when faced with your mortality – or that of one you love. You say “Yes” where you might normally say, “Stop” or “Wait” or “No, let me try another way.” Ray and I barely had time to digest the news that his was Stage 4 metastatic before we found ourselves caught in the revolving door of tests, doctors, hospital beds, pharmaceutical cocktails, heart monitors, iv drips – and blood drawings that turned his arms black and blue. Of course he would fight it and I would support his wishes. Given the circumstances, fighting was probably a better option for him than devastation and grief – as he lived only 50 days beyond diagnosis and most of that in a hospital. (And now, I am left to digest that it was a slow-growing cancer, missed by a medical system of specialists and primary care that only looked at their piece of the elephant. A blog for another day.)
“I will never attend an anti-war rally; if you have a peace rally, invite me.” – Mother Teresa
I am not fighting cancer. I am embracing life and that embrace is my basis for recovery and healing. So many precious moments were lost in Ray’s fight. Moments that we did not know were to be our very last because we were too busy fighting “it” to check-in with the rapidly changing terrain. I do not wish to lose my focus or balance. Family and friends have been put on notice to rouse me if they see this happening.
They know cancer is not part of the equation when it comes to creating what matters most in how I love to move through my life and how I move to love through my life.
This does not mean I will not be diligent in my research and careful in my decisions. That I will not be attentive to those offering me alternative approaches to balance, strengthen and heal my body. That I will not be respectful of and grateful for the medical professionals as they share with me what they know, as well as their assessments and treatments for this party crasher in my breast. This does mean I am not going to operate from panic. Last week I got a call from the oncologist’s office. They scheduled an MRI for me. Efficient, I suppose, except they forgot to ask me before they booked it. They forgot I have a life. A simple thing, I know. No big deal. Why not change my schedule and keep the appointment? After all, it’s CANCER. Cancer is a noun, not a verb. I do not wish to start CANCERING. Call me crazy, but I sense the point where that noun-verb transition occurs. And I teeter there some days. Not in fear, but in the scramble for insurance coverage, in the assumptions made by doctors and their staff, in the measured urgency of loved ones not wanting to lose me – the way I lost Ray. I choose, daily, to be conscious of where that CANCERING point is so I don’t cast aside LIVING. Another verb. The medical machine whisks us through the door after the word cancer is spoken. (And how willingly we go because, YES, it is a scary frickin’ word.) Once we get through that door we start to lose our perspective. We forget we have choices that may be outside the realm of discussion among our providers. We forget we are the patients, the most important part of the recovery equation. Fear and urgency rule as we cast present moments aside while we aim for better days. I’m not a fighter, folks. And I am not fighting cancer – again. I am living – still. LIFE is my point. When I remember, I invite those who forget, to remember. When you remember, you invite those who forget, to remember. And when WE remember, we remember together – and it doesn’t get any better than that. That’s the point where miracles happen. Our journey continues ...  
“A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than reason.”  – Thomas Paine
PS: Treat yourself and read the comments. There is some great experience and wisdom being shared! XO Sharing is caring. And feel free to subscribe.  

Life. Death. Breast Cancer.

Life. Death. Breast Cancer. I have no clever first-line hook for this post. And it won’t be neat and tidy with a beginning, middle and end. If you’ve spent any time here at all, you know I am not shy about sharing when life gets messy – though never for drama’s sake. God knows we all have our tribulations and don’t need another magnifier in the world.
A wise woman recently said it perfectly. If I am going to share the heavy stuff with you, it will be to build your muscle – not sink you.
When I posted about the only New Year's resolution you'll ever need back in January, I had no idea the hurricane that was mounting at sea or that there would be no stopping it when it hit shore. I also didn’t know how challenged I would be to catch my breath, let alone post anything in the messy room. I figured, when I could show back up here, I’d post about my beloved’s battle with a cancer found too late (that had metastasized throughout his body) and all the stuff you witness to in that agonizing race to buy time – at least enough time to digest the news. But then he died. Just 50 days after diagnosis. So, I figured I’d make my way back here and blog about death and grief and how precious life is and the things we say “Yes” and “No” to and all the silly stuff that captures our attention while the really important stuff gets lost in the hooplahah. But now I find myself in a most bizarre overlap. The cancer train has not yet left the station. It seems that I have breast cancer. That the lump they told me was benign in January, before the hurricane hit shore, is not benign now. It has grown and gotten greedy and is invasively feeding off healthy breast tissue. Another intimate life-long partner, challenged. Were it not for my journaling, my morning quiet time spent with God and His divine messengers, and the tribe of wise souls circling around me, I would have washed out to sea before the third tidal wave hit me. But I’m not drowning. I’m here. And I’m back. And I’m writing. My walk with life, death and cancer continues. And I have messy stuff I want to say. I awake with grief and grace, daily, in a scavenger hunt for gratitude and understanding. I am not in resistance – but am in persistence – as I prepare for this next round. It would appear that my life is in what marathoners call a “split run race.” (That’s when you run faster in the second half than the first.) By divine design no doubt. A sacred overlap, perhaps, with my beloved who is now assisting from the other side. I am the stuff of stars. Not cancer. And I will find out what this old girl is made of as I work to reconstruct my life in this next most curious chapter. So, get ready to build some muscle with me or unsubscribe – cause the messy room just got messier. Thanks for listening.