Not in Control but Not Alone
Tomorrow is the day I should find out the results of my cone biopsy to stage my cervical cancer. This will decide the next few months and, in many ways, the rest of my life (though I try not to think about that too much; one-day-at-a-time is the only way to play this game right now). I have been distracted most of the week and day, but there are moments of sheer terror and panic that I can only compare to teetering on the edge of a something very tall. In my last post I mentioned that I found false comfort and success in my cone biopsy, but it has really been Step 1 in this process.
I have been thinking a lot about what I do take comfort in because going without is a wretched prospect that does not seem conducive to survival. I imagine other people going through similar events need these comforts as well.
Maybe it sounds contradictory to some, but I take comfort in both God and science. I think things happen for a reason, and at the same time, I understand why many things happen. I have not been handed the greatest situation at all, but I understand that there is power to do good or at least help *someone*, *anyone* moving forward (I’ll speak more about this in the future). If that is what is meant to happen, that is what will happen.
I have also found comfort in, to a certain extent, relinquishing control or “letting it go” as well as being vulnerable to family, friends, and even strangers.
I am new to this, but I already know it: if you are or have had cancer or some other disease, you live in a state of uncertainty. This has already been particularly challenging for me because, like most people, I enjoy living on my own terms. I like to be able to plan out what my situation will be in a 3 months to a year. I also like to be able to just go do things. Cancer and other illnesses come in and say “OH YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD A PLAN? THAT’S FUNNY.” Seriously, I am trying to plan a wedding and get a career going here. I’m trying to grow my hair out. I’ve been trying to get healthier and have been able to run more than I have in a few years. I would like to go on a vacation and get in the water. Let’s not even talk about sex. -_-
The truth of the matter is…we don’t have control over most things. As my grad. school advisor once said (this is definitely paraphrased; sorry Dr. Hart) “There are very few things you can always control. The things you can control are your attitude, your effort…” and some other stuff that is in the same vein. Man, I truly butchered that, but you get the point. I cannot know about tomorrow, and I cannot know about the days after that. I have hopes and dreams that I would like to pursue, but I cannot control a lot of that. No matter what, even if I will be down for a little bit, I hope to fight and remain positive and strive to get through whatever is around the corner.
Giving up control has also meant I have had to be more vulnerable to people. I do not like the idea that someone is controlling me, even if they mean well. Even now, I have to rely on and trust other people. This has been a big step for Sam and I. We’ve never really been in a situation like this. You don’t get engaged and think you’re going to have to deal with cancer. At least typically, right? Suddenly, I’m trusting him to not only help me out with taking care of myself but also on the more intimate level of “sickness and health” that most people don’t pledge until marriage. He’s really stepped up to something that a lot of guy’s don’t handle well (HPV has a lot of preconceived notions). In many ways, I feel guilty because I do not want to overwhelm him but this level of vulnerability and trust is very new to me, and it feels good. I understand why people get married now. Took me long enough, I suppose.
I have found a lot of comfort in stranger and other cancer sufferers/survivors too. I joined a group on Facebook that is specifically for those who know the cervical cancer battle well (or are like me and just beginning it). However, one of the more comforting experiences I had the other day was with a complete stranger.
I have been signed up for some online classes for a month or too. Currently, I don’t feel capable of focusing and doing a good job on the classes. The other day, I decided to withdraw. I called the program and was unable to get in touch with my coordinator, who we’ll call “Aaron”, but I left him a voicemail and e-mailed him letting him know the situation: “Hello Aaron, I would like to withdraw. Cancer. Blah blah.” He wrote me back shortly and asked me to give him my phone number. I did, and I received a phone call from him shortly after.
Aaron was very understanding, and he followed up his sympathy by being vulnerable himself: “Actually, I know exactly what you’re going through because I’m going through the same.” Aaron told me is also 28 and also found out 2 weeks that he has cancer. Sure he is a stranger, but the moment was palpable. Very heavy and emotional and also comforting. Two strangers colliding in time going through ridiculously similar (but still different) circumstances.
Maybe it seems like a crazy sales pitch to keep me in classes (he helped/convinced me to stay registered for my classes and just start them in October). I don’t think so. Leaving that phone conversation was a little heartbreaking. It was a “This isn’t ‘Good bye!’ but just ‘See ya later.’”. I sure hope so.
I have already said it, but I am not sure what to think about anything right now, and maybe right now, there should be “no thinking”. Just living while I have the chance because we’re all going to die no matter what.
