Personal Weakness

After my open lung thoracotomy, I had a dilemma. What kind of woman was I going to be? 

What kind of person was I going to be with this disease from that moment going forward?

I wasn’t going to be taken care of if I could help it. I knew I was going to have trouble asking for help, have trouble accepting help. I knew these things were going to be necessary. But I also knew they were going to cause me problems. That’s the kind of person I am.

I knew asking for and accepting help were actually going to make me feel weakerthan I was already feeling. And it was only the beginning. I knew these actions were going to make me feel weaker than I knew I was going to get. I wanted to do everything myself for as long as I could. That was what was going to make me feel alive: doing it myself.

I am not sure I did the best job washing my hair. I probably missed a spot or two. But I did it. And I didn’t ask for help.

Granted, it was something small.

But in that particular moment, on that particular day, that particular act gave me a feeling of pride as big as anything else I could have possibly accomplished. A postscript.

I wish I had been more accepting of help in the early days. I wish I had not seen it as a personal “weakness” the way that I express here. I don’t want to change what I wrote then, but I do want to say that I don’t think I was right to push myself so hard. If I had it to do over again I would accept help more often; maybe not for the hair-washing, but definitely for other tasks that I should have outsourced. I have learned from my experience.

I think about the sentence that changed my life.

I think of where I’ve been, where I am, where I am going.

I think of those I’ve met along the way: new friends, doctors, nurses, strangers.

I think of those who have died from cancer and other causes since I was diagnosed.

I think of the progress we’ve made and the distance we have yet to go.

I think of what today might bring, and tomorrow.

And then, in a sudden reversal, I stop myself from thinking too much.

“It’s time to go live my life,” I tell myself. Thinking is good, but only so much.

“It’s time to go live my life,” I tell myself…

Right after I change that one word.

I often wonder if mothers and fathers get psychological stretch marks when we are asked to accommodate changes we’re not quite ready for.

What can we do? What options do we have? None. We must “go with the flow” and do the best we can. Our children grow and change whether we like it or not. We do them no favors by trying to protect them, coddle them, and keep them young. We give them wings to fly when we give them tools to be

confident

and caring

and inquisitive

and trusting

individuals.

I am moved to tears as I watch my children grow.

I am moved by the succession of infancy, childhood, and adolescence.

I know that as a mother I lack many skills I wish I had.

But I also know that the words I have written in my blogs and essays will one day be a gift to them too.

Not a gift to the children that they are, but instead a gift to the adults that I am raising them to be.

No matter how you measure time it always goes too fast.

The growth happens too fast.

And the growing pains hurt for me.

“Having a good attitude makes all the difference.”

People say that to me all the time. I am sure every person who’s had cancer hears that. I think what people are saying is that there is something you can control in all of this mess. There is so much you can’t control, that you have no choice in. People say how you deal with it, how you choose to behave once these things are thrown your way, is up to you.

Here’s what I think:

I think what matters is good health insurance. I think what matters are friends and social support to get you through. I think what matters are children, or pets, or others who nurture your soul and remind you why you are going through all of this: there are others who care about and depend on you.

I think good medicines matter. I think caring and capable oncologists matter. I think talented surgeons matter. I think getting good advice matters.

Why am I resistant to the idea that attitude matters? Not because I don’t believe it. I reject this idea because it places the burden of healing on the individual patient. It places the weight of getting better in his/her hands. I think cancer patients have enough to deal with. We have enough to feel guilty about and responsible for. I think tossing our collective attitude into the mix is a lot of pressure. All eyes are on us anyway.

Now we have to watch how we treat the thing which is killing us.

Having a good attitude says:
the power is in you to survive.
The power is in you to heal.
The power is in you to do well.

But looking at the converse is troubling. The implication is that if you suffer, if you relapse, if you die– it is your fault.
If you had only had the right attitude,
you could have been better at keeping it away.

You could have been stronger.
You could have beaten it.

That may be flawed logic in the philosophical sense but I think it’s worth exploring. Even if that logic can’t be reversed so easily, I think the implication is there: you should have the right attitude because it makes a difference. Difference in what? Difference in your outcome. If it didn’t, then they would not say it.

Or would they?

There is an impetus to control, as I’ve talked about frequently in my writing. You just feel like you need to do something. I think that’s what people are grasping on to with their advice. They know you can’t do much, so they tell you to control the one thing you can: your mindset about what is happening to you.

Sometimes I just don’t want to have a good attitude.
I don’t necessarily think it makes a difference.
I don’t want to think positive thoughts all day
and see the good in what is happening to me.

I think that can be healthy too.

_____________________________________________________________

As Jenny and I sat on the back porch last night, we had a great time planning my 36th birthday party/ Celebration of Life Party. We are having an 80's theme and everyone has to dress up in 80's garb. We will have Karaoke, a photo booth, and even play truth or dare. It is going to get very interesting to say the very least. 

I have tried very hard not to think about my cancer over the past few days, but today I had to take a ride in an ambulance. I had to get pain medication for my chest because I just could not tolerate the pain anymore. North Texas Medical Center is amazing, and I honestly would not pick another hospital when it comes to my pain due to my cancer.

In these days there is no room for anything but cancer.

But these days will pass.
You don’t believe it.
Can’t believe it.
But it’s true:
these days will pass.

Your life will change.
You can make room for other things,
better things.

And once again,
there will be room in your mailbox.

You will remember to get the mail because you won’t be thinking about cancer.
You’ll be thinking about the things you should be thinking about,
that you deserve to be thinking about.
Each day.
Every day.
Today

Love you all mean it.....and God loves you too, 

Shanna xoxo

Official prayer warrior page for my fight against lung cancer: facebook.com/hope4shanna

Official blog Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/shannabananahealthandfitness