This resonates with me. It begins to describe how I feel, almost 7 years into MBC. I almost feel healthier, happier and more whole than I did before cancer, but that is not quite accurate. Those particular words are not exactly right.
Healthier: This cannot be within a body with incurable stage 4 cancer, a body that is physically and mentally limited, a body plagued with digestive problems, fatigue and pain. Perhaps I mean that I am comfortable with this body I have. I like it. I may even love it. I marvel at its abilities, even when those are much more limited than before cancer. People my age seem so concerned about aging and I see aging as a wonderful privilege.
Happier: How can I be happier when there is gut-wrenching fear of dying young, before my kids are ready and without my fulfilling my biggest wish in life – to grow old alongside my husband? Surely I am not happier. Perhaps I mean more at peace, more comfortable in my own skin, more confident to practice self- compassion, much better at time management, much more skilled at setting priorities with my own time.
More Whole: How can this very broken body be more whole? Perhaps I mean that I know myself so much better than I did before cancer. I have experienced much trauma related to my cancer journey – chemotherapy, radiation, surgeries and so many scans. I had to quit working, throwing us into financial insecurity and uncertainty. Outside of cancer there have been so many problems. Surviving all this has made me stronger, like bones knitted together after a fracture. Knitting together fractured relationships makes them, in my opinion, stronger than they were before they broke – definitely built on a more solid foundation.
I started this cancer journey with the scary realization that I am in control of nothing – hence the title of the whole blog, “I am NOT in Control.” I have developed a closer relationship with God. I talk to God so much in the normal course of a day. I swear at God. What the eff, God? Seriously, God? God, give me the words. God help me put on my big-girl panties today. God, I just cannot. There is too much pain, anxiety and fear to say, smugly, that I am happier and healthier than I was 7 years ago. I see my cancer in the faces of my husband and our three children. I saw it in my mom. But, to use the selection from this poem, I am now learning to be both lighthouse and sinking ship, the beacon and the wreckage.
I am not in control. 