I have devoted some space on this blog to talk about the fear and anxiety that has arisen out of my cancer diagnosis.Very little of that fear and anxiety is focused on me. Rather, I worry most about my husband and children. To some degree, my worry circles around how they would fare without me, about how crippling their grief might be in the face of my loss. Even so, I have faith, given their youth and the inherent resilience as well as the promise of time (with all of its miraculous healing powers) that comes with youth and given the support of family and friends, that my husband and children would move on with their lives and even thrive. So, much of my worry revolves around harm on them. Because I understand very well that numbers mean squat, because I am, despite all the overwhelming statistical odds that were in my favor, living with advanced lung cancer at age 35. I am petrified of all the statistically unlikely horrors that may befall these four individuals who stand at the very heart of my present universe and at the core of whatever future I have left in this world, horrors that might prematurely cut short their time. Therefore I repeatedly make my pleas with God to leave my children and my husband alone, to inflict on me instead whatever bad that must be inflicted as part of the universal order of things.
The problem is that such a deal with God, while it might protect my husband and children, might shatter the lives of the two individuals who stand at the center of my past, who more than anyone else has made me the woman I am today, who unlike my husband and children no longer have the benefit of youth and the strength that it brings. Even though my parents sometimes make me crazy, I love them so very much and I am so afraid of what my illness and passing would do to them. I am a parent now. I understand as I could have never otherwise what the potential loss of a child means and the terror that it instills in me and must instill in my parents.
Some have told me that I should focus on myself and not worry so much about my loved ones and the impact that my cancer is having on them. But you see, to worry is to love and love is the most powerful weapon of all in this war, as trite as that may sound. I've felt from the beginning that to fight cancer, to fight for my life, is to express love in the greatest and most profound way. Most everyone would instantly think I am referring to love for my husband and children. This is in part true. But a great deal of this war for me is expressing filial love, about carrying out my filial duties, about ensuring that I'm around to take care of my parents as they grow older, about repaying in full my moral debt to them, about never allowing that heartbreaking devastation to rest on their faces ever again.
While today was a good day, it was also a "hello you still have cancer" day. My blood pressure was really low, and my pulse was high making this an extremely big fatigue day for me. Like I've said before, the roller-coaster of cancer is not for the faint of heart. The ups can be unbelievably exhilarating and the downs can be crushing. And the journey between those two points can make you puke your guts up, both literally and figuratively. Getting up after a fall, recovering after a defeat in the latest battle, regrouping, finding a new equilibrium, it all takes time and is part of a process that involves the mind, body, and the spirit that at its core requires oneself to dig deep and find strength within one's soul to move beyond the darkness and despair, to find air and light, and hope within the prison that is cancer. My process of getting up, recovering, regrouping, and discovering my new equilibrium after the most recent defeat began on my bed today after my ribs began causing excruciating pain once again.
For me, fighting cancer, especially when suffering or recovering from a defeat is like making the descent. It is a time loaded with fear, anxiety, nerves, hesitation, and so many other negative emotions, where the sky and the path are uncertain and it feels like no matter what weapons you take along with you to help you, the weapons may fail and the journey seems endless. You make yourself smile and say positive things because that's what people expect of you, but inside you are bitter, so bitter. And you despair as everyone else moves past you, all of them so blissfully happy for they are free of the prison that is cancer.
Those of us who face cancer, any type of cancer, are prone to using the metaphor and language of war to describe the way in which we deal with the disease. In many respects, it's an appropriate and useful metaphor because it lends a visual image to an often long and arduous process with an uncertain outcome in which the mind and body are brutalized; it fires up passion, and gets the adrenaline flowing and can push one to keep enduring.
When I got cancer, I suddenly figured out that I did have some meaning in my life besides just being a mother and a wife...and crafting my legacy became of paramount importance. I just began advocating for lung cancer research for LUNGevity. I am working hard to help others who are like me. And with my words, I want to help those who are in need of hope and inspiration. Even though I know I am dying, I still want to be a soft place for people to land.
While in some respects the story of my diagnosis was a nightmare, I think it is ultimately a story of love between me and all those who came to support me. In my moments of elusive faith, I believed that the hand of God brought me out of my surgery so that I could know that kind of magical and singular love, a love that I had never experienced and, I daresay, that even many of those who have lived many more years than I have never experienced and will never experience. Sadly, it's the type of love that is only shown when life is threatened, when for a few minutes, hours, days, or weeks, everyone for that short period of time agrees on and understands what really matters. And yet, as transient as that love can be, its magic, intensity, and power can sustain the most hardened among us, as long as we allow ourselves to luxuriate the in the glow of its memory. This disease may bring me to the final days of my life on this earth, but the story of how cancer came into my life reminds me every day that while it has taken from me the innocence and untarnished happiness of my old life, it has also given me the gift of human love that has now become part of my soul and which I will carry with me forever.
Love you all and mean it (and God loves you too),
Shanna xoxoxo
LUNGevity National Hope Summit: I'm participating in an event to raise money to fight lung cancer—and I need your help!
When I got cancer, I suddenly figured out that I did have some meaning in my life besides just being a mother and a wife...and crafting my legacy became of paramount importance. I just began advocating for lung cancer research for LUNGevity. I am working hard to help others who are like me. And with my words, I want to help those who are in need of hope and inspiration. Even though I know I am dying, I still want to be a soft place for people to land.
While in some respects the story of my diagnosis was a nightmare, I think it is ultimately a story of love between me and all those who came to support me. In my moments of elusive faith, I believed that the hand of God brought me out of my surgery so that I could know that kind of magical and singular love, a love that I had never experienced and, I daresay, that even many of those who have lived many more years than I have never experienced and will never experience. Sadly, it's the type of love that is only shown when life is threatened, when for a few minutes, hours, days, or weeks, everyone for that short period of time agrees on and understands what really matters. And yet, as transient as that love can be, its magic, intensity, and power can sustain the most hardened among us, as long as we allow ourselves to luxuriate the in the glow of its memory. This disease may bring me to the final days of my life on this earth, but the story of how cancer came into my life reminds me every day that while it has taken from me the innocence and untarnished happiness of my old life, it has also given me the gift of human love that has now become part of my soul and which I will carry with me forever.
Love you all and mean it (and God loves you too),
Shanna xoxoxo
LUNGevity National Hope Summit: I'm participating in an event to raise money to fight lung cancer—and I need your help!
I'm planning to attend LUNGevity Foundation's National HOPE Summit in Washington, DC, in May - it's a special conference just for lung cancer survivors like me. If I can raise $1000 or more in donations, LUNGevity will cover my travel expenses, including US round-trip transportation and hotel accommodations.
Proceeds from this fundraiser will benefit LUNGevity Foundation, the leading private provider of research funding for lung cancer. LUNGevity Foundation is firmly committed to making an immediate impact on increasing quality of life and survivorship of people with lung cancer by accelerating research into early detection and more effective treatments, as well as providing community, support, and education for all those affected by the disease.
Please join me in my efforts to stop lung cancer—the leading cancer killer—now!
Official prayer warrior page for my fight against lung cancer: facebook.com/hope4shanna
Official blog Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/shannabananahealthandfitness
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