Weathering Life
by Lynn Wachtler MSN, RN, FNP-BC, CMCC
Blindsided. That’s the word that comes to mind for me when tasked with giving (or, in the instance of my son, receiving) a diagnosis of cancer. We call it the C word for good reason. Frankly, it’s so hard to discuss, we prefer not to say it out loud. For many, a cancer diagnosis comes out of the blue. The young and healthy aren’t supposed to get sick. They do. Mine did. He nonchalantly handed me an ultrasound report while I watched The Bachelor with my daughter and her friend. There are three words that no Mom or clinician ever wants to read. “Consistent with neoplasm.” The body has a lot of parts. It can be anywhere, at any stage. I went to the bathroom and completely fell apart while simultaneously trying to keep it together.
The up close and personal exploration of heartbreak as a parent was something I couldn’t unpack for a long time. The loss of control, loss of freedoms, and the potential of losing something precious are not for the faint of heart on this cancer journey. Unexpectedly, what I found on the other side of this colossal mountain of fear was an expanded understanding of and a more profound capacity to love than I thought possible.
Duality is part of the human condition. Life inherently presents opportunities to experience situations beyond our control by illuminating what is and what is not of value. Acknowledging fear (or any other emotion) and adopting strategies that allow for temporary cohabitation and processing, we call a truce and shake hands with that uncomfortable emotion, knowing we don’t need to be long-term roommates.
On the other hand, love is welcome long term at my place. While fear may diminish with time and negative scans, unique opportunities for more love will always exist. Experiencing a bigger life means living without regrets, living intentionally, and infusing more love into everything I do. We can face life through the lens of love or fear. But, no one can choose for us.
But what lies between love and fear? How do we move to the other side? I called that bridge hope. I was a frequent traveler- back and forth, praying the guardrails held and the labs were good. What is the human condition without hope? The human spirit and will to live is strong, but we need hope and a good oncologist when the going gets tough.
A cancer diagnosis levels the playing field ensuring even the most stoic and independent among us may need some extra support and community. Being vulnerable and letting others drive (metaphorically in your world or, quite literally, to chemo) is not a sign of weakness but rather the opportunity to experience humanity at its finest. So just say yes to that support. The chemo room has blankets, treats, and a lot of love - caregiving chauffeurs included.
I cannot emphasize enough that the journey back to wholeness can be a complicated reintroduction process. Integrating mind and body systems that have experienced significant disruption takes time. Say yes to self-love, and don’t rush the process of healing. Say yes to balance, boundaries, people, and things that bring more joy. Truth be told, navigating life while also navigating cancer can be challenging. There are no two people on the same path or timeline for healing. Focusing on that inside job of healing becomes much more manageable with outside support. Joining hands, embracing vulnerability, and traveling to that place of healing together makes that journey all the less arduous, infusing love and connection during even the darkest days and nights after a diagnosis.
