Two years on …
Two and a bit years have passed since D-Day (Diagnosis).
Never did I think that I would be ‘here’ … back in Melbourne, living with my sister, no long term job, my other-half 2000 kms away in Brisbane waiting for the job Gods to smile, studying again after nearly 20 years. And then there was the whole self-isolation-during-global-pandemic situation!
And yet, I finally feel like I’m home.
Home isn’t yet the four walls and roof that I can call my own. It’s much more than that. It’s about feeling like I finally know me again. Like I’ve been introduced to a new friend, but one that feels like I’ve known her for a long time.
This is my new life. I’m creating it. I’m living it. There are no passengers, no one I’m carrying along for the ride.
One of the things that cancer brought with it was a mighty big microscope … all the tiny fractures in my relationships, all the self-doubts in my mind, all the body-beatings from my inner-bully, all the white noise in my life … it all got magnified in size and amplified in sound. But after the first 12 months were over, it became clearer what I was choosing to keep and what I was choosing to let go.
Now, another 12 months down the track, and even I am surprised at who is with me and who is not. I have grieved the loss of lifelong friendships, but have also joyously welcomed new ones.
New career pathways have opened up, inspired by all that has happened. How it all comes together is anyone’s guess but for now, after giving up the expertise I’ve created through 20 years of social justice work, I’m stepping into the world of health and human services.
New photos from New York, the Rockies, and Bali that have helped to recapture the wonder and beauty of life (see pics below).
New perspectives have formed about what and who is most important, and how to spend my energy. Who knew I’d have my very own makeshift yoga room, be baking paleo lemon slices, and driving with my sunroof open just so I can see and feel the sun.
But it all balances out.
Even after treatment, and the all-clear last month, I still live with cancer's ghost. It comes with me to every screening test and medical appointment. It sends off triggers at the mere sight and smell of a hospital or a TV story-line about someone just diagnosed or dying of cancer. Suddenly, I’m back there again, sitting on my knees, crying into the phone to my mum, unable to speak.
What if it comes back?
Well, what if it does? I guess I’ll do the same thing I did two years ago … put one foot in front of the other and hope like hell that I will be ok.
Because today I am ok. Despite many days when I was anything but ok. Where the world and everyone in it was an abyss of sadness. Where I was just too exhausted to feel anything at all.
Cancer doesn't have to define me. But the shadowing adds depth. It gives me a different perspective. But I have to re-choose this every day. It doesn't happen by accident or habit. I could just as easily choose not to get out of bed. To abuse and disrespect my body. To only see scars and weight gain and weird hair. But I instead am grateful for this body. For this mind. For these eyes. For this heart.
For now, the what ifs are wasted because I choose to focus on the what now. To do nothing when my brain is full and needs a break. To cry when I feel sad. To smile when I see kindness, or another silly cat YouTube video.
Two years on, what I’ve come to realise is:
Anger is about looking backward.
Anxiety is about looking forward.
Acceptance comes from standing still. Embracing presence. Being Me.
