Fear and Patience
When I started this process everything made me afraid. The idea of being in a hospital for endless days. The bags of liquid hooked up to my body sending medicine in to do its job; a body that had previously seen nothing more than aspirin or antibiotics now and then. The tests, scans, lumbar punctures, biopsies, and blood draws. The “what will happen next” and “can I get through this” loomed large.
Being bone numbing tired, and with no physical strength was a state that descended on me quickly like a deep fog. Looking at numbers, tracking results, and asking if this is ok, is it normal? What was normal anymore? I didn’t look like me, or anyone I remembered ever seeing in the mirror. You’d think losing 25 pounds would make you happy, I was just glad that I had it to give and still retained some body mass to sustain the ongoing process.
We did this for 8 cycles and through the duration, I kept telling myself to “be patient”. If there was a delay in starting the next cycle because of blood counts—be patient. If I felt like my head was still whirring from the past week’s treatment and all I could manage to do was sleep—be patient. Trying to eat and retain the right amount of calories and energy, or to walk up the street on my own—be patient.
And then finally patience won out.
I got to the 8th cycle and realized I was done—and when I left the hospital that day for the last time, I decided fear had not been traveling with me all that time, it was patience and perseverance that got me there—and some pretty amazing doctors and nurses who carried me over the finish line.
Somewhere along the way, my fear had dissipated and the need to find solutions for energy, eating, and strength won out for my attention. Perseverance was my choice, not fear. In this pursuit I found new resources and new contacts for support. As the days have continued I’ve felt the lifting of that fog and a reconnecting with things I loved in my life. The nurses used to tell me that I would feel better again, it was going to get better. Amazingly, they were right! The lightness returns and you start to feel like you’re back in the world again.
This image of the stairwell at the cancer center of the hospital is a reminder of returning to myself. I would watch people go up and down that small flight of stairs without effort and it reminded me of how I always took the stairs—two at a time—rather than the elevator. It’s such a small thing, but the day when I finally felt well enough to walk up that staircase for my appointment was such a big win for me. And when I turned around and saw the slogan on the wall, it brought this home that there were better days ahead and I was going to walk right up to every one of them.
During this time I’ve learned that patience can get you to the end of the line but also makes you receptive to the opportunities that can present themselves. This hasn’t been a journey I’d recommend to anyone but when faced with these situations it’s worth trying to find the best resources possible to make the distance feel shorter and to care for yourself in new ways. It’s an opportunity in life to dig deep, find your own personal resources, and reinvent how you want to live. I persevere fiercely to that end and will continue long after my maintenance marathon ends.
