Have you ever found yourself in a position where you had to fake it? A couple of months ago, the circumstances were a little awkward, but I really felt backed into a corner. I had no choice. I had to smile. I had to pretend.
It was December, 2017. I knew going in to my oncology appointment that all would be fine as far as my cancer was concerned. I was unafraid.
My oncologist said, “Hey! Great news! You are four years cancer-free!” He was smiling. My husband was smiling. I felt nothing. A couple of awkward seconds passed and I realized I needed to DO SOMETHING. So, I smiled,nodded my head and said, “Yeah, that’s great! Awesome! Thanks so much!”
Four Years is Awesome! Can I Please have Four Easy Years Now?
Four years is pretty damned amazing, especially for pancreatic cancer. I know so many other people have been denied the opportunity to experience four years after a cancer diagnosis. I am not ungrateful. I know exactly what pancreatic cancer means for most patients. I knew what it meant when I was diagnosed with it.
I mean, how could I NOT fake feeling ecstatic? That would be horrible. That would make ME horrible. I felt guilty and ashamed for not genuinely wanting to do cartwheels up and down the hall. I knew the people in the full waiting room were not likely getting good news. Yet, I had a very long list of other things which were weighing heavily on my mind. It is a little bit of one of those post-cancer bullshit realities: even when you face cancer, other hard things continue to come at you.
When I was diagnosed in 2013, cancer was not on my ‘worry radar’ at all. I really did not think about it. I never was angry about having cancer because I do not think I ever fully moved beyond being stunned by my diagnosis.
Like many young(ish) people who have never been ill, I thought I would have cancer, get treatment and I would either die from it or I would go back to living life as it had always been. I am grateful the first option did not happen. I was surprised when B also did not happen.
Cancer comes along and creates upheaval for everyone in its orbit. It impacts the things you see as well as those things beneath the surface which have yet to make an appearance.
Earthquake, Aftershocks and Tsunami
For many survivors, cancer is the 8.9-on-the-Richter-scale earthquake which comes out of nowhere. After a period of terrifying rumbling and shaking, you and your loved ones are left huddled together (if you are lucky) in the rubble, tasked with rebuilding something which will hopefully make you feel safe and protected again. You take the pieces, patch them back together as best as you can, but there is no longer any illusion of real safety.
You know another earthquake could roll through at any time, and you know your structure is probably not strong enough to withstand more destruction and trauma. In fact, waves of aftershocks keep occurring and no matter how well you feel you have braced yourself, the shaking chips away endlessly at your foundation.
All you can do is hang on to one another and hope for the best.
Four years of survival. It sounds glorious, and in many ways it has been; however, it has also been four years of aftershocks and tsunamis. I am still here, but I feel like I have been shaken and nearly drown.
The first aftershock came in the form of a scare two years ago. The scare was a large lymph node in the celiac plexus area. I went in for a biopsy, knowing that if my cancer was back it would be extremely difficult to fight. The celiac plexus is a difficult area to reach and it is surrounded by major blood vessels. So, it is hard to remove anything there and with the blood vessels in the area, it is easy for the cancer to travel to remote parts of the body.
It was terrifying, obviously to go through a couple of months not knowing if the cancer was back. One of the hardest parts for me was not being 100% transparent with my kids about the situation. Steve and I knew we were terrified, and I did not want to shake my children’s’ foundation unnecessarily. We would tell them what we knew when we knew it. Ultimately we did not know for sure until after the biopsy and more CT scans.
There were other things that happened during that time, and I found myself sinking into a deep, dark pit of depression. Ultrarunning was what kept me literally and figuratively moving forward. I spent the summer of 2016 training for the Run Rabbit Run 100. I put one foot in front of the other, day after day after day, trying to keep the panther from eating me alive. (You can read more about that Here)
As fate would have it, the race brought me the joy I needed, but a few months later I realized I had an injury I needed to address. I needed a delicate and possibly run-ending hip surgery. I had a hip labrum repair at the Steadman Clinic in Vail, CO under Dr. Phillippon. I had the right hip operated on March 30, 2017, just under a year ago. (Read more HERE)
My recovery was going extremely well until A)I hurt my shoulder swimming during rehab and B) my foot started to hurt. I had some foot pain off and on prior to RRR 100, but it was never enough to stop me. As soon as I started running again and adding hills into my training program, my foot started hurting. It hurt so badly I walked with a limp.
EVERY SINGLE DAY I woke up and told myself, my husband, my friends, “Today is the day! I am going to get out there, have a great run and turn this around!” I did not want this foot injury to sink me mentally after everything else I had been through.
After months of positive self-talk which did nothing to help me, I wondered if I was doing it wrong. Or if I was delusional…or just plain old stupid.
For the last six months, I have tried different things to fix my foot, as I have slowly watched my identity of being a runner disappear over the horizon. I would not care so much if I could hike or do anything without being pain. But that is not where things are for me right now.
Dear God, NOW What?
In the meantime, I have been diagnosed with two other significant health issues, one being an issue I caught on my cancer CT scan report and brought to my doctor. (People, always read your reports and ask your doctors what stuff means. If you do not get good explanations, go somewhere else!) There is another issue I am still trying to figure out.
In addition, a very dear. very much-loved family member is also having significant health issues. It kills me to be far away because I cannot hug him during his own aftershocks. And, of course, I can never forget the impact my cancer had on my children.
Who am I and Why am I Here?
The constant stress of the last four years have indeed triggered a chain reaction of problems.
I MISS the old me. I miss being a person who took for granted the fact that I would live to be 90 or older. I miss my strong, uncut body. I miss the body which rebounded from illness and injury quickly. I miss not being in pain.
I miss the unquestioning faith I had in my physical abilities. I miss the belief I once had in myself that ‘anything was possible’.
I miss having a body that was imperfect but dependable. I miss taking for granted there would be more running and more races for years to come. I miss believing with every fiber of my being that I could conquer every mountain and finish every 100.
And I miss how running protected my mental health and emotions. I miss knowing I could go spend a couple of hours in the mountains and come back better for it.
Maybe it will all come back. I have not give up all hope, though there have been some extremely difficult days. I keep thinking that after battling cancer, life should guarantee you a couple of relatively easy years, but it does not. For now, I will just hold my loved ones in the rubble and hope we can all keep hanging on. And I hope at my five-year appointment, I no longer need to fake it.