In the words of my favorite superhero: "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it."
It is hard to face all of the random twists and turns that life throws at you. It is hard to always be thoughtful and kind. It is hard to remember to say "thank you" for all the little things. It's hard not to take people for granted. It's hard to remember to find the joy in the small moments of life. It is hard to feel all the emotions that come with being human.
"The scene in your head is rarely the scene you are in."
All the small affronts that become looming problems in our minds can often obscure the life that is happening right in front of our noses. It is easy to read too much into an offhand remark, to assign motivation to a tone of voice. It is easy to read weary body language as frustrated, and a comment born of exhaustion as a personal attack. I have often found that I get irritated with Kevin, it actually has nothing to do with the Gatorade left by the bed for two days, but everything with how tired I am.
Being a good person is no small feat. Sometimes life is really hard.
So it only follows that marriage has all the same challenges as life. At the same time, it carries with it joy and partnership, love and friendship. For those lucky enough to find it, marriage becomes another one of the blissful challenges you face during your journey on this planet.
I've often been told how brave I am in this cancer journey. That has never made much sense to me, as I am not doing any of this by choice. I would much rather NOT have cancer, and NOT put my family through all of this. Sure, great life lessons, live in the moment, blah, blah, blah, blah. But I would really prefer not to have cancer at all. Really. REALLY. Really for real.
I am, however, surrounded by some very courageous people. Perhaps the most astounding and least acknowledged are the caregivers, my mom, my husband, and even my children. They voluntarily attend every appointment, put up with all of my anxiety, hold my hand while awaiting daunting test results, and take care of my rambunctious munchkins when I need to sleep. None of this is required; it is not their bodies that are resentful hosts to this beast, yet they do it willingly. That is courage.
Meeting new people is sometimes a bit awkward for me now, since I never know if or when I should drop the "I have cancer" bomb. I still have my hair, so there is no tell-tale chemo sign.Overall, there is really no external way to tell that I have anything wrong.
Yet, lung cancer has become an important part of my identity. There is not a day that goes by where I do not think about it. It has profoundly affected who I am and how I think about life. So, like it or not, it is a part of me.
I am not ashamed of having cancer, and I am happy to talk about it with people but the initial coming out is wrought with uncertainty. Will I get the "pity face?" Will I get the list of things I should/should not eat/drink/breathe...etc? Will I get the awful silence that follows the exchange? "What stage is it?"
There must be other people who feel this way, people who have an important part of themselves that is a somewhat touchy subject. Perhaps this is how members of the LGBTQ community feel? Perhaps people who have experienced a life-changing event feel this way? There is no external marker to show that something big is going on, but it is there, and it is important.
I used to say that I wanted to live a hundred lives in my lifetime. The upside of this cancer journey is that it is helping me to walk in other people's shoes and see with their eyes. There is the yin in that yang.
P.S. Tomorrow is my very first appointment with my oncologist. Please say a prayer for me that we might actually hear some good news. Love you all! Mean it!
Ephesians 5:15-16
Be very careful, then, how you live - not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.
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