Choices, Consequences, and Commitment
My final chemotherapy treatment took place one year ago yesterday, on October 4. Thankfully, I do not recall anything about the session, except that it was one of the easier and shorter of the series. These milestones bring a need for reflection on of all my family has endured, how things have changed, how we have grown.
When I look back, since those first anxiety-ridden days of December 2006, I am in awe of the multitude and magnitude of the issues we faced as a family, not just the medical decisions concerning surgery and treatment, but the daily choices confronting us, and the consequences of each. Because of our growth as a couple, and as a family, all we share seems better and brighter. Insights into the world around us are sharper, our conversations with others are truer (and, as a result, more telling—good and bad), our understanding of life’s gifts and the value of the “little things” is clearer, and more precious than ever.
Such decisions require commitment, in the highest and purest form, if there is such a thing! The word “commitment”, for me, has never been about a pledge, or a promise with an “out” or an option, but instead, an absolute. Commitment is the center strength of one's integrity, yet, post-cancer, I have waffled on a few major commitments for the first time in my life, and I am not proud of that fact.
Unfortunately, the issues in question revolve mostly around my own treatment, my longevity, my health, my life. I take so many pills, four times daily. I forget so many pills, conveniently it seems, to “maintain control” of something, anything, that cancer has stripped from me. I am just tired of cancer issues ruling nearly every aspect of our lives. The necessity of the pills angers me to no end. The need to exercise, eat right, lose weight, eliminate stress, etc. is tiresome and boring. The unexplainable fever of the past week since getting my injection is worrisome. I want things to magically return to the way they were four or so years ago, before I began to feel poorly. The reality of my need for control of these things has the opposite effect of control, and is painful.
I know, and I believe . . . give it up to God . . . but what will I have left to define me at this point should I do so? I am working through this, slowly, painfully, with sadness, fear, and reluctance.
My prayers and petitions to God always include family, friends (many over many years, thankfully!), detractors (very few, thankfully!), causes, (world peace!) and an absolute reverence for “Thy will be done”, but now, I find myself more often praying in thanksgiving for the gifts of breast cancer, and the many learning opportunities accompanying it.
Yes, I am possibly, and quite simply, crazy. Steve and Emma agree that I am healthier, happier, look much better now than I did then (let’s hope so!), plus, I am "much more fun" and feel more alive than I have in years!
Thanks be to God! For the good, and the bad! In the bad, we grow; in the good, we thrive!
Love to all,
Mary
