Life continues.
This morning I woke up slowly, giving my muscles and tendons time to snap open and stretch and work out the toxins accumulated from the chemotherapy pills I took the night before. I soaked some dishes from the previous evening’s dinner in the sink before making coffee in my french press and microwaving a bowl of 1-minute oatmeal (almond mild, cinnamon and agave—always the same). I ate my breakfast while flipping through a magazine (I test myself with the ‘Who wore it better” section of US Weekly, covering up the percentages of how other people voted and seeing if I get it “correct”… small pleasures, right?).
I can usually make it this far before the anxiety sets in. Because now that I have gotten the small stuff out of the way I am faced with the task of, What next? Because while I am better, I am still not well; with each incremental improvement of physical well-being comes a much bigger jump in the expectations I have for myself about what I should do and who I should be.
There is a fear that comes when you think you are going to die. When I was diagnosed with lymphoma and went through my initial intensive treatment, and then more recently when I thought I had relapsed, I faced this fear intimately. I truly felt ready to die—as ready as one can be for that sort of thing, I suppose—if that’s what fate had in store for me.
When I got my clean PET scan results back a few months ago, and learned I had not, in fact, relapsed, the euphoria was immediate. I was going to make it! After this long, the chance of relapse is small; I felt the joy of believing cancer was not going to be what killed me.
But then there was a correction. Because nature abhors a vacuum, and the universe seeks homeostasis, and what has become unbalanced must be rebalanced.
While I had faced the fear of death and stood up to it, there was a new kind of fear I had yet to meet—the fear of life. There is a fear you feel when you think you’re going to die, but there is a different, almost more terrifying kind of fear you feel when you realize, after experiencing a traumatic event, that you’re going to live. Now I had to confront the proposition of having to piece my life back together, of needing to deal with all the petty annoyances of living, of re-learning how to not just get through the day, but plan for the future. Questions like, How will I work? How will I take care of myself? Who will love me?
The questions are so encompassing and they loom over me so largely that, for now, I consider them only briefly before I reorient myself back to the moment. Because there is laundry to do and bills to pay and doctors appointments I need to get to, and now it’s been a few hours so I need to start thinking about lunch. There’s an avocado in the fridge that will go bad soon so maybe I’ll make a quesadilla. But my body hurts and my soul is tired, so for a moment I’ll just put my hand over my heart and breathe.
Whoa. You’ve just articulated something that I have been facing recently (and trying to ignore) after spending the last number of years of my life as a caregiver. Thank you for these words and for sharing your story. Sometimes the only thing to do is just breathe.
Take time to catch your breath, smell the roses and relax. You are entitled to. My good thoughts are with you today.
So well put. Thank you for, once again, opening your heart and sharing. Much more I could share, but will leave it at, thank you.
Some days are just like that. Just managing to get a couple of ‘maintenance’ items taken care of is about it. Yes, it’s all a bit, and sometimes a lot, of overwhelm. A little at a time as recovery proceeds. All part of the process.
Been there, done that. Still getting better! And I wish the same for you.
Barb
I have those same thoughts – peril of being an unplaced resident.
Are you still up north? If/when you’re back in LA, consider a somadome session – we’re working on finding a way to help people better equip for answering questions like that… the ones we all face.
I have a slowly progressive form of upper motor neuron disease that, after learning that it’s not ALS and I’ve got more than just a few years, has left me in the exact same position, asking the exact same questions. You are such a blessing for sharing your journey with us. Hugs and frogs, Sara.
P.S. I’m HF autistic frogs are my obsession I love them so much. Ribbit
Just curious as too your exact diagnosis. My sister was diagnosed recently with Pompe disease neuromuscular in nature as there is an enzyme she is missing leading to muscle atrophy.
As you go through these next days and months, just know you are never alone.Our thoughts and wishes travel with you.
NAILED IT! I don’t know if you could have nailed it any better than that. You are a master carpenter and so much more.
Thank you!
Dear Elana, I am in no place to give you advice because you are one of the most intelligent and strong hearted women I have “met” but I feel the need to tell you that you must take things one step at a time and not get too wrapped up about what comes next. You have accomplished SO MUCH already in all that you do…the seminars…the chemo…travelling….to name a few (I’ve been following your blog for a while). Please don’t underestimate these things because they are immense doings! Feeling the need to do more brings on anxiety and I don’t think you need that right now. You have come such a long way and you are an inspiration to so many people who hear that word “cancer” and immediately assume it’s the end. You are proof that this is not the case. Thank you for this gift <3
Blessings to you Elana <3
hi Elana…thanks for sharing your world with us…I find it helpful to live one day at a time…and I don’t think of the future because I don’t know if there will be a future for me but those small daily pleasures are what I concentrate on…
Hello Elana!
Thank you so much for writing and sharing this with us. Personally, I am delighted knowing that your challenges have become so worldly again; they are good challenges to have. I had never thought about it before, but yes, it must be terribly complex to refocus one’s efforts on a different direction. At some level, paradoxically, it probably feels like you got cheated. Reading your post it came to mind that it would perhaps be really cool to have 1-on-1 support from an Angel (a cancer survivor who has already walked the path you are on right now), here’s the link: https://imermanangels.org/get-support/ I know you’re not asking for advice, and it isn’t, I just learned about their service, and someone was really thoughtful in putting it together for people experiencing what you are going through. Kind Regards,
Courage Elana. I read your story from far away (France) but you are so sincere that I actually feel close to you. My kind regards. Caroline
Hello I have been following the great content on your web site from before you told your readers what you had to deal with. Am full of admiration for your willingness to be frank and open about everything you have shared with us. HAve been moved to the point of crying a few times when reading some bad news – and also when reading good news (albeit for different reasons). Sending you warmth and light.
Gosh, Fear of Life – never really thought about that. It’s so true, isn’t it? There really is a fear to life. Hope you’re well, Elana!
Welcome back to being alive, Elana! I tend to believe that fear is human’s greatest adversary. After I recovered from my near death experience, I got back into the martial arts. I had done it back in college and a little beyond, but becoming a surgeon and practicing slowly took the time for that away. Finding things that involve me in that state of complete focus and often timelessness, for me, push back fear.
I don’t know what the future will bring. I know I will have to face fear. I also know:
Fear is a stern master
If you live in it’s house
You will be its slave.
Dear,
I think that these two fears are the same…or, maybe, there is just one Fear-fear of death…
Hi & Sure do Miss U & Sending Big Warm Healing {{{{HUGS}}}} From my Farm,
Namaste’
Deb
🙂
You are such a brilliant writer and inspiring individual. It s my hope that when you are feeling up to the task, you will do what you had set out to do. Please consider doing group therapy, seminars, podcasts, private sessions, and anything that you are up to. You have so much to offer and cancer has only increased your wisdom in helping people achieve their best self. I would love to be one of your patients!
Elana,
It has been many months since I checked into your blog as our life went on a winding way – – but may I suggest, as a beautifully centering yet nevertheless wonderfully distracting hobby that you might want to look into Argentine Tango? It’s the only social dance I know where one can truly be where-ever they are, and find transcendency in a “tango moment”. As an introvert, I love it. One doesn’t speak (though in America, we do bastardize the etiquette a bit). Yet, one can have a great time. It can also feel good to be in someone’s arms. And there’s a lot of variety in the music too – –
I know you’ll find how you want to live – you are helping so many by sharing your insights.
Deborah (formerly in Madison)