Four years

Four years may not seem like much. I mean, really, what is it? A student may finish high school or college. A baby has grown to toddler and learned to sit up, crawl, stand, talk, walk, run, laugh, reason and test their parents. The parents are seeing their baby disappear as a child emerges. Four years may not seem like much, but to them, this is significant.

To a cancer survivor, four years is a miracle, a blessing, a prayer answered. To a cancer survivor, four years is hope fulfilled.

On April 19, I marked four years since I heard the horrible words, metastatic melanoma. Had I known more about melanoma at the time, I would have been petrified, but as it was, the word metastatic sent enough terror through me. Spreading. My mind wondered, where, how far?

I remember the days before surgery. As I exercised, I did pushups and with every pushup, I willed the cancer cells away. I shouted at them. Told them, “You will not get away with this. Get back to this one tumor and don’t think of going anywhere else.”

I’ll never know if that worked, but only one of 26 lymph nodes had cancer. And that one lymph node was a beast, wrangling in all those unruly melanoma cells. I hope all my other lymph nodes took note, in case I ever need to call on them again.

But I have four years behind me. Four years and I have no evidence of disease (NED). We all have grown very fond of NED in my family.

Even more so than that, at four years, there is a sense of the pre-melanoma me returning, measured mostly by my physical ability.

I am without a doubt, stronger than four years ago, and I continue to gain strength. I am getting faster, despite age and other setbacks. And my confidence has returned. There still may be occassional bouts of anxiety, wondering if I can handle something before me, but those instances come fewer and farther between.

My four year cancer-versary was marked in other notable ways – in new beginnings.

At the end of March, I took a new position within our company, a promotion, to associate editor for the Wiscosin State Farmer.  It was an answer to a question I’ve had since my diagnosis. How do I continue to work and manage stress? Someone asked me today about the job change and I told them, I feel like I have my life back. Watch for a future post with more about that.

To me, however, a more significant new beginning was the start, this week, of the Livestrong at the YMCA classes I will be teaching.

I would not be teaching this class if it were not for melanoma. Strange, but true.

There are so many things I would not have done in the past for years, had it not been for melanoma rearing its ugly head. And I don’t regret any of them.

Actually, I embrace everything melanoma has brought to my life – the countless conversations with people about cancer, the opportunity to advance research by participating in a clinical trial (in essence to help someone else), the chance to talk to seventh graders every spring about sun safety and skin cancer, the opportunity to lead Beat Cancer Boot Camps and make cancer survivors stronger, to lead group fitness classes at the Mukwonago YMCA, meet a fabulous bunch of people and help them lead a more functional life. Mostly, the moments I lived completely, embracing every ounce of whatever that moment had to give.

Even the suffering, the pain, the setbacks. I embrace them all (although I have to remind myself of this at times) because overcoming these, gives twice the meaning to life. If life were easy, there would be no joy, but joy comes in overcoming insurmountable obstacles.

My cancer journey has lead me to places I’d never imagine. Never. Would I trade the uncertainty that accompanies every skin check, every lump, every scan? Probably, but I’ve travelled roads I could not imagine. I’ve touched lives I hadn’t even known. I feel like I’ve truly made a difference, in my own small way, and isn’t that why we are here?

Four years may not seem like much, but it has been more than a lifetime to me. Not to steal lyrics, but I’ve loved deeper, I spoke sweeter, I gave forgiveness I’ve been denying, because I learned to live like I was dying. That alone has been worth the journey and I don’t want to lose that lesson, because I would like to multiply four many times over.

So, as I begin my journey this week of helping other cancer patients gain a more functional, satisfying life, I look back on the lessons cancer gave me in the past four years and give a little salute. Without this experience, I wouldn’t be who I am today. And I don’t regret that one bit.

Four years may not seem like much. It seems like everything.

 

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