The good

Three years ago.  I can’t believe it’s been that long.  I hardly even think about it anymore. But at the same time I think about it every day.  I feel the residual pull every time I move in my sleep and whenever I twist or turn.  I can’t feel my chest any more, but I can feel my back and the tight muscles that never really warmed up to their new home.  Funny I don’t really connect it all to cancer.  It’s just how my body is now, its adjusted normal.

In fact I mentioned it in a talk a few weeks ago and my kids shocked me later at home by saying they’d forgotten I even had cancer.  One of those kids is 16!  Good grief.

But it’s come to the forefront again because I’ve been talking with a friend about her diagnosis. She’s having surgery just days after the anniversary of my own mastectomy, it’s sort of surreal to be reliving it all vicariously.  I am completely surprised that I can relate.  I never consider myself a cancer survivor.  And yet I can truly empathize.  I knew exactly what she’s feeling.

A million questions.  Strong days.  And cry-y ones.  Ups and downs.  So many appointments and decisions.  All the wondering.

Is this the same kind you had?  To be honest, I have no idea what kind I had, I always have to ask Todd.  Her-2? I don’t remember what that means.  Did you have chemo? Radiation? And that’s when I feel dumb.  Who am I kidding? I didn’t have real cancer.  Talk to my sister. She had it all: lumpectomy, mastectomy, radiation, chemo, tamoxifen, the whole thing, she’s the one you need to chat with.

But during one of our very first texting conversations I mentioned that actually a lot of good came from my experience.  I think that caught her off guard because she immediately had to know what I was talking about specifically.  But I was adamant. There was way more good in those few weeks than bad.  By about a million to one.

I just rambled off some of the first things that came to mind.  It was amazing.  People I had no idea even knew came out of the woodwork to shower me with love and meals and flowers and notes and soft things.  All the medical people were sensitive and professional and kind and patient.  People from all different parts of my life came to visit.  They cried. We felt closer as a family.  All the unimportant things dropped out of our lives and it was clear what really mattered.  We didn’t take each other or our normal life for granted.  I felt like I was given a second chance, an opportunity to refresh and refocus.  I softened and felt a new and better love for people.  My umbrella over it all was and still is immense gratitude.

Her reply surprised me.  It had made her cry.

And if I had to choose, I think that’s one of the best things that came from cancer.  I can cry without a care in the world now.  I feel liberated.  Unrestrained as I express my feelings.  It started way back early in October as we first got word.  Tears came easily as we had to tell our friends.  And especially as we told our sons.  I’m not worried about crying with a friend now. Or sharing our deepest heartaches.  And blessings.  I say I love you to my girlfriends. I never end a phone call with my family without saying it.  I just need them to know for sure.  I’m not afraid of expressing my heart anymore.  Cancer—even the tiny cancer I had—taught me that I can open my heart.  Wide.