I love Thanksgiving

The last few weeks, I have found myself stuck in a horrible place.  I have been paralyzed by fear, stress and just an overwhelming feeling of panic.  Life in my shoes have not been easy over the last few months.  I have overcome crazy obstacles.  Recovery from spinal surgery is not easy, especially one that originates in your cervical spine.  I never truly appreciated my neck until it was compromised.  The human head is a bowling ball pitched on top of a stick. I’ve been quiet since my second surgery.  Mainly because most of what I had to say was negative, nasty, horrible recovery based thoughts.    

Today, Thanksgiving, is exactly seven weeks from my second and final surgery. After a recent MRI, my neurosurgeon is happy with the results.  He feels like he removed 85% of the tumor that was residing in my spine and putting pressure on my spinal cord.  The final pathology of the tumor is considered to be low-grade.  What does that mean?  Here’s the hard part; although it was not aggressive, it’s still considered cancer.  And for some reason that’s been the hard part- admitting that 

I have cancer. And it sunk me into a horrible downward spiral. 

It’s a surreal experience at 39 to deal with something like this.  And I realize that there are many people that deal with all types of cancer at all different ages.  But I never imagined that it would happen to me.  I worried about breast cancer, because three women in my family including my mother have battled the disease.  But I never envisioned, in my most deranged hypochondriac mind that I would be dealing with a cancer of the spine.  It’s not something you hear of everyday. 

For the first few weeks after surgery, I laid in denial. I truly expected that I would just bounce back with a quickness.  Then, as my recovery took longer than I wanted, I became angry. And then sad, more than sad really.  After about 4 weeks, I sank into a horrible depression. I focused on the horrible negativity of my situation; the financial stress of not working, the limitations of my physical recovery, and the compounded effects of feeling disconnected from the world as I sat in my apartment. 

And then I started radiation.  The panic attacks became worse.  The concept of literally being strapped to a table by my head while a machine pumped high levels of radiation into my body is not my idea of a good time.  Then again I suspect that very few people would enjoy such an activity.  As a November blizzard dumped feet of snow onto Western New York, I felt relieved as my daily radiation sessions were cancelled due to the weather.  I didn’t want to do this.  My stress levels spiked and as they did I realized I was making myself sick.  I couldn’t really eat.  My sleep pattern was terrible.  I’m still trying to get myself right in those respects.

I’m truly trying to put mind over matter.  But that is was easier said than done.  I have just wanted to give up.  I have wanted to say no to the radiation and just say “I can’t do this, I quit, I give up.” And that is the reason I have fallen silent since my second surgery.  Because I don’t do sorrow.  I may have a flare for the dramatic, but I hate the feeling of wallowing in self-pity.  I loathe feeling like I can’t do something.  I have never felt so rock bottom as I have the last three weeks. 

David snapped me back into reality.  He reminded me that while I might have my own physical struggles and fears, I’m not alone.  He reminded me on what it was like to be on the other side.  He reminded me that while I lay in surgery, people that love and care about me waited hoping for the best but fearing the worst.  He reminded me that people that care about me hate to see me in pain or scared or sad.  And those reminders made me realize that my journey is not a solo one. And that I have people relying on me to get better.  And I won’t heal if I don’t let myself heal.  And self-pity is not part of the healing process.

So on this, the 39^th Thanksgiving of my short life, I am thankful that I have those people that are relying on me-waiting for things to return to normal.  Because for all my superwoman complexes, it’s comforting to know that I am not alone.  And sometimes you need to be reminded that you aren’t rolling solo.  I am so thankful for all the people that have helped me during this really difficult time.  

So, if you brought me food, companionship, laughter, gifts, cards, good thoughts and positive energy – thank you.  For those people that donated to my give forward campaign (For more info, click here) – thank you.  Your kindness has allowed me to heal while reducing the worry of my financial responsibilities.  I am also thankful for the medical staff and doctors that chose to help others because without these skilled hands and caring hearts, my path to better health could not be nearly as easy as it really is.  And in the end, I am thankful for the realization that I have to stop the self-doubt and own my recovery.

Sometimes, we all take a wrong turn.  Things down that path look scary because they are unfamiliar.  It has been hard to admit that I took the road to Poutsville and that I had no idea how to get out of town. With that admission, it’s time to shake off the dirt from traveling and get back on the path that leads me straight back to Katsville.   Cheesy analogy, I know, but would my journey be complete without a healthy heaping of cheese? Not a chance.  Happy Thanksgiving!  Be thankful for all that you have.  And take a minute to sit back and reflect on all that you have.  Because when you think about it, you really do have more than you realize.