The Journey Continues

Last week we got the news we had prayed, hoped, and begged for for months. We got our miracle, the cancer in my liver appeared to be gone, along with any other cancer in my body. I have a follow-up appointment with my doctor tomorrow (per my request) to go over the scan and to make a plan for the next three months. Although I appear to be cancer-free, (I say "appear to be" because anyone with cancer can tell you that we never believe that the cancer isn't lurking in a dark corner waiting to pounce!) that doesn't mean that things ease up and I am allowed some time to breathe. In fact, I feel like the battle is just beginning. Now I sit atop a ticking time bomb, because cancer, she likes to come back and come back with a vengeance.
Now, more than ever, I have to be vigilant about my health and getting myself back in shape and ready for whatever comes my way. I firmly believe that the cancer attacked me when it did because I was at my weakest. My baby was born with complications and then weeks later had to have surgery. I was unable to take care of myself physically and mentally. I was a wreck and cancer likes a wreck. It latched on to me as its prey and was determined to ruin me. Being at my weakest, that made the fight that much harder. I don't tend to realize how much I have suffered until afterward. I don't usually realize, in the moment, that I am in ruthless pain and undeniable exhaustion. I was taught a long time ago to push through and make it work. You can't do that with cancer and chemo. If you push through, you end up 10 steps backward, as I found out when I was forced to get six hours of hydration and when I was hospitalized for anemia. You can't mess around with your treatment. This is not the time to be a hero and not pay attention to yourself and your body. If I was tired, I had to sleep. If I was in pain, I had to tell someone. If there was blood, I couldn't ignore it. Bruises, fevers, bowel movements (yes, I went there) all had to be monitored. I'm not used to this. I had gave my body up to the chemo, my life was put into this treatment with the hope that it would make me able to do the things I was used to again someday. That I would be able to be the mother and spouse I needed to be.
Unless you have been through it, you don't know how debilitating the treatment is and how unrelenting. Chemo is cumulative, just when you think you have your body used to it, it adds on another layer. The nausea gets worse, the exhaustion never-ending, the pain unrelenting. And that is just the physical aspects. Emotionally and mentally, your brain is in overdrive. It's a constant battle to push the "what ifs" and the dark scenarios from your head. You look at yourself in the mirror and hate what you see. Remember, I had just had a baby too, so I was just beyond depressed looking at my body being deteriorated before my very eyes. You have to break down your body in order to rebuild it cancer-free. And while I had willingly entered into this treatment, it didn't mean that I was happy with all the changes. No more flat stomach, now there was bloating from steroids and chemo. No more hair, chemo took that too. Scars all over my legs from scratching due to my liver enzymes being all out of whack. No more pretty pedicures because you can't get those with chemo. My arms and legs look like linebacker's because the gym just wasn't an option for me. A fresh scar on the left side of my chest which reminds me every minute of every day that I have cancer.
Now that the chemo is over, some things are starting to turn around. My hair is growing back, but there is nothing attractive about a growing out buzz cut. I have no idea how to make it work. I'm back at the gym, having joined the YMCA's Livestrong program which has become my saving grace. I'm not one to ease back into my gym routine, and this program doesn't allow that. I am a part of a group of inspirational survivors of all abilities, learning how to get our bodies back, our minds back. We support each other, congratulate each other through the good, and hold each other in the bad. I don't think I have ever been a part of something I've been more proud of. I don't feel alone there. It gives me hope. And it allows me time to process what I have been through with people who aren't judging, who have similar fears, and get that our bodies and our minds are far from back to normal.
This process of "healing" is hard for most to understand. I have a husband who gets it without a doubt. He has been in my corner, not pushing, and encouraging me to take my time. You see, a lot of people think, you're cancer free, you're obviously back to normal. You got your wish, so get back to living! I wish it were that easy. I wish that I woke up completely refreshed, ready to take on the world. But, I'm not. First off, the chemo is still in my system. I'm still slightly anemic which makes you tired. My liver, although cancer-free, is now full of scar tissue. This means it is still enlarged, it isn't working at 100 percent, and I still get pain and discomfort at times. I still have to find out what the plan for my new "scarred" liver is. My muscles have atrophied from months of non-use. Working out is embarrassingly hard. My muscles in my neck are sore from just being in the car for more than a half-hour. You add weights, and cardio to the mix and I can feel like I got hit by a train. But I suck it up, because I want to be in this fight and I want to be better than ever.
In the midst of my chemo there were days when I could barely lift my head off the pillow. Being the mother of a young infant, this was heartbreaking and frustrating. I wanted nothing more than to enjoy my new baby's smiles, giggles, his expressions when he saw things for the first time. I hated that I needed help with this. That I couldn't do it myself. But I couldn't. There was no way I could juggle chemo, chemo's effects, and a newborn all by myself. Bill was going to have to work so we had some income coming in and for our insurance to stay in tact. We moved in with my parents to get the help we so desperately needed. My mom and dad were able to pick up my slack. And I'm not lying when I say that it felt like I was slacking. I can't tell you the number of times I cried out because I had such guilt for not being able to do the things a mother should do for their baby. I wasn't getting up at night with him. I wasn't getting up first-thing with Sam. I was relegated to my bed at certain times of the month. And when I was feeling like I had some sort of stamina,  it was always short-lived. Do you know how heartwrenching it is to pull back when all your son wants to do is play with you? When you have no energy to even pick him up? Do you know what that does to your emotional state? Over and over people told me that I was doing the ultimate for my son by fighting the cancer so I could live for him. But it wasn't any consolation. I felt I was letting my son down.
Now that I am done with treatment and getting back on my feet, I try to spend as much time as possible with my son. And I try to make it count. My day consists of tickling him until he giggles relentlessly, reading him books and teaching him words, walking outside to show him the trees and the birds, taking him on swings so he can feel the breeze on his little round face, drying his tears when he falls down while learning to crawl, and rocking him gently as he sleeps in my arms. I finally feel like I am a mother again. That he looks to me for the love he needs and knows that I am able to provide it. That he feels safe with me again. I am getting there.
Every one of you has helped me get to this place. A place where I am learning to be a mom again and able to trust my own body again. I am able to push the limits a bit, put my toes in the water, and move forward. There is so much work to be done yet. The exhaustion lingers, the dark thoughts still lurk, and there are moments of despair. But I am bound and determined to get my life back. I have been given a second chance. Granted, the life I am to lead does not look like the life I had envisioned even a year ago, but it is still beautiful and I still want to live it in every sense of the word. I have more ahead. More scans, more surgery, and doctor appointments. I still need help. I'm still and always have been appreciative to all of you. I wouldn't be here, wouldn't have the positive outlook that got me through this, without all of your help. Whether it was a kind word, a donation, a card, a phone call, a text, a meal, a laugh, a hug, a ride, or putting us up for months while I got back on my feet, I thank you. Now it is time for me to reclaim my life, my role as a mom, and to be a wife. It's time to be me again. The journey continues, but now I know what it takes and that I can do it because of all of you. I know, as Aunt Holly said all those month's ago, that "we've got this!"