Two years ago today I went in for an MRI at Peabody Lahey, not thinking much of it. Little did I know that my life would completely change the following day. The following day I would get a call that I will never forget (minus not remembering the doctor's name). I will forever remember where I was when the call came in, what I was doing, and the words from the doctor.
Two years ago I naively thought that I had breast cancer or ovarian cancer. Two years ago I never thought I would hear the words Stage IV, terminal, 5 years, lung cancer, good cancer. Two years ago, I thought I would have some chemo or radiation and would be as good as new.
Two years ago I didn't realize I would be fighting every day. I didn't realize that I would be educating people on my "good cancer." Fighting to educate people. Fighting to get out of bed most days. Fighting to not worry about what is going to happen in three months, or is that cough something I should be concerned about (today its not). Fighting to not worry if that cough is going to bring up blood. Fighting to not worry about medical bills, or what happens if I take a couple of days off because I am exhausted. Where will the vacation/sick time come from if I miss too much work? Who will cook dinner if I don't feel good?
Two years ago, my life changed forever. I found a group of incredible ladies who "understand" what I am going through. They understand the emotional toll of being diagnosed with lung cancer because they also face the same worries I face.
I found my village of people wanting to help. Friends that I didn't know I had stepped up to help with meals, rides, check-ins, cards, and wrapping my family with love. I found a village that knew exactly what I needed when I didn't even know I needed it. I found a village that even when I was at my lowest has still stood by me.
Over the past two years, I have put aside my pride and asked for help when I couldn't do it. I have asked for emotional and financial help, and I have asked for help with housework, and with the kids.
Over the past two years, I have cried more than I thought I could. And when I thought I had no tears left I cried some more. Bryan and I have hid our tears from the kids, but we have cried with the kids. We have hid our anger from the kids, and we have let the kids see how utterly unfair this is. We have had conversations that no parent should ever have to have with their young kids, but more and more are having to have.
I have been angry, I have been sad, I have been defeated. I have fallen and I have gotten back up to continue to fight. I have felt guilty that I have good lung cancer. I have felt guilty that I complain when I don't feel good. I have felt guilty when my friends have helped. I have questioned what I have done to deserve the kindness that others have surrounded my family with.
For the past two years ago I have tried to be more present in the moment. I have hugged Bryan and the kids tighter. I try not to take a day for granted. I have started to write letters to the boys, and have started a blog. I have started to plan for the day that nobody wants to think about. I have made decisions about what I want and what I don't want. I want my body to be donated to science. I don't want a big to do after I pass. Maybe a memorial service, maybe a celebration of life. Today, Bryan and I met with a lawyer and wrote our wills, power of attorney and my living will. Today I repacked my hospital bag. (I didn't even have a hospital bag when I was pregnant with the boys...Lol).
I don't know what this year will hold, or the next two years. I am hopeful that I will be here when the boys graduate high school, when they get married, and have kids of their own. I am hopeful that this will be a good year. But I worry all the time that I won't be here for those things.
Hold your loved ones close, hug them tighter, write them letters, and make memories with them. You never know when your life will get turned upside down with a Stage IV, average 5 years, diagnosis.
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