Finding out you’ve got a tumor the size of a fun size candy bar making itself at home right where the sun doesn’t shine, can change a girl’s outlook on life.
It can change a lot of things.
Like how you love your kids, how you take care of yourself, how you pray, and how much toilet paper you buy (in case you didn’t know, my cancer was rectal cancer – I know, a bummer, literally).
I’m hoping to be cleared by my oncologist next month. Yeah! I’m quite excited to say the least and may celebrate with a glass or four of bubbly.
To say the last five years have been a roller coaster would be like saying Jaws is a small fish and Bill Gates is comfortably well off.
It’s been MASSIVE, friends. Like, crazy oh my goodness I think I’m going to barf, wild. There were highs, with outpourings of love and deep connection with the Man Upstairs, but the lows were horrid (no gory details now because I’ve shared some of my Why me, Lord, why me? stories before).
I don’t know about you, but I’ve never stepped off a rollercoaster quite the same girl as when I got on, so I’m sharing some of the things I wish I knew BEFORE I got cancer.
1. People say the craziest things.
Unfortunately, people don’t know what to say when you tell them you’ve got cancer.
And that’s OK. It just means what comes out of their mouth can be wonderfully loving Oh I’m so sorry to hear that, mind-blowingly thoughtless Oh my uncle had that – he died last month, or totally real and honest Well that sucks!
Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of all of these and I’ve heard much worse from other survivors.
In our fear and awkwardness, we botch it. We’re just not as kind as we’d like to be. So now I stick to a script of my favorite response:
That totally sucks and I hate that for you. I’m here for you and want to help by ……
2. Asking for help isn’t weak.
I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: Our strength can be our greatest weakness. The last five years have taught me asking for help does NOT mean I’m useless, helpless, worthless, pathetic, weak, less-than, or any other personal slur I can come up with.
It just means I can’t do it all. And that’s OK too.
Someone else can cook meals, go to the supermarket, mow the lawn, take the kids to soccer, change diapers and light bulbs, and walk the dogs.
No one else can go to chemo. No one else can snuggle with your kids and say “no matter what, mummy loves you.” No one else can go to your doctor’s appointments.
Now I’m better at asking for help. When something comes along I can delegate, defer, delete, or do it.
Maybe you’re a recovering “Do-er,” too.
3. I’m stronger than I seem.
And so are you.