For the last fifteen years, I've hustled for things: degrees, jobs, certifications, grants, awards, income, a home, my child's education. Never once have I regretted the choices I've made: to go back to school, get into this profession, raise my son on my own, valuing his education. Even when I so happily married my dear husband, in December, I never felt I would back off pushing, day after day, to learn more, find new ways to teach, create new projects, new challenges for my own learning, and for my son's.
That was then; this is now.
Six weeks after the wedding, just into the Spring semester, when that very young doctor sadly said that I had cancer, one of those movie sound-effect screeching brakes went off in my head. It went off, I noted it, and then I ignored it.
It doesn't matter, I thought. I can come back fast after surgery, get all my work done online, miss some office hours, maybe a class or two, but keep pushing. At the time, doctors were telling me, "oh, a lumpectomy, some radiation, Tamoxifen for five years." Not too disruptive. Just keep pushing.
Then things got rockier. The sentinel nodes were positive. Some other things were also not so good - numbers and letters. Staging: 2B. Not not 2B. More surgery to take more nodes. Oh, wait, a black spot on my shin; yes, that's a melanoma, we need to take lots more shin, maybe skin graft. While we are in, we will put in a chemo port.
Finally, after the second surgery, there was a day I felt I simply couldn't take it. I'd been hurting for months. I palpably realized how someone gives up. I thought of just refusing any more treatment and going into a hospice (which I pictured like a rambling, white country house with wicker wheelchairs, peaceful, birds chirping).
From where I am now, some weeks later, this sounds ridiculously dramatic. Obviously I was worn out, drugged up, and needed to stay in bed. And I did. What I came away with after that, and after the first round of chemo, is that I can pause the hustle. "Give pause" is a rich phrase; something that gives one pause is notable, remarkable, profound. Pushing has its place; so does pausing.
Enjoyed your post. Our situation is similar. Mine was ovarian cancer, stage 2. Surgery on 3/12. Port inserted just this past Tuesday and first precautionary chemo on Monday. No other cancer was found but chemo is recommended for 6 treatments. So my journey begins. I, too have told myself it is ok to put things on hold and as you put it, pause. Your Mother is a good friend and I shall enjoy following your blog which she told me about. Good luck to both of us on this journey. Jean
ReplyDeleteJC, my mom told me. I'm thinking of you, too - we will prevail!
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