Co-Existence

To conquer frustration, one must remain intensely focused on the outcome, not the obstacles

I visualize the cancer leaving my body. Like a string of thick, black smoke, I pull it out from my chest until it’s gone. I do this at some point, every. single. day.

So, is it strange that I still, at times, can’t believe I have cancer?

Sometimes, I go through my days, wanting to scream at the top of my lungs, or cry until I have no more tears. I never scream. I very rarely cry. Instead, I curb the urges by repeating one of my mantras, like “I am well. I am strong. I am blessed” or, I say a prayer of gratitude. I’ve experienced relatively mild side-effects up until recently. Thank you, God! Some patients are not so lucky – the patients whose faces pass through my mind every day, frail and green-skinned, barely able to keep their heads up. My chest feels heavy thinking of them.

This is all temporary. It’s a means to an end.

As I go through post-treatment side-effects, through the toughest and most enduring weeks for me thus far, I find myself thinking: “This is not happening” – a phrase that has become a daily thought. It’s just frustration. I know this.

I know this because I can’t get my hips and legs to move normally (exercise consists of walking up and down my hallway like a baby taking it’s first steps). I’m frustrated that my throat and esophagus is burned from radiation and I can’t eat normal foods. I’m even a little pissed off that the food network is filled with competition shows and not with actual cooking shows anymore!  I’m frustrated that I don’t have the energy to cook dinner. How am I supposed to stay at the top of my culinary game this way? How will I ever be ready to re-audition for MasterChef Canada at this rate?

It’s makes me angry that I can’t go to work. I’m frustrated that I don’t feel well enough to attend family functions – Just in the past week, I missed my future niece’s 15th bday party (Love you, Madison) my future cousin’s engagement (Congrats Jen & Justin!) and I had to cancel my first ever true Valentine’s Day date with my Mark (Sorry, my love).

My grandmother passed away last week. I can’t tell you how horrible it was for me to not be able to go to my grandmother’s funeral. That I couldn’t stand next to my Dad in support, as he said goodbye to his beloved mother. That I couldn’t be there to hug every single one of family members and friends and new family and angels that surrounded us with love and support. Daddy, I love you. Nonna Rosina, Rest In Peace.

I’m frustrated That my parents eyes are filled with concern all the time. That they have done everything in their power to make me comfortable and take care of me yet can’t fix me like a parent instinctively wants to. I’m frustrated that my nephew has to even ask my brother when his aunt is going to feel better.

I’m frustrated that starting my life with Mark as husband and wife has to be put on hold. That he has to spend his weekends helping me up and down the stairs, and taking care of me. That’s my job. I’m supposed to take care of him. I’m supposed to take care of myself. I’m supposed to take care of everyone I love. Like I always have. But I can’t. A whole part of who I was a few months ago – the nurturing, dependable, go-to, get-it-done girl has been stifled by a monster. How annoying.

Most of all though, I’m frustrated because I don’t know yet if all this was worth it! Has the chemo worked? Was radiation successful? Did my tumor shrink enough that it can be removed with surgery or will I need more treatment?

My heart believes that treatment went exactly as planned and I will be strong enough for surgery in 6 weeks. In my mind, it was so successful that the tumor was blasted away and I don’t even need surgery and I’m already cancer-free. That’s hope. That’s me focusing on the outcome – on a positive outcome. I truly believe that that I will be better than ever when this is all over with.

But right now, I’m frustrated. 

Everyone around me gets a little freaked out when I say I’m not feeling well, or that I’m in pain or that I’m scared. I think they think that I’m losing faith, hope, my positive outlook or inner strength. I’M NOT.

I am not defeated.

In my world, frustration and hope co-exist

I can be scared and hopeful at the same time. I can be frustrated and still be positive that it’ll all work out. I can feel like crap and still be happy. I can cry and laugh all in the same moment. I can feel like I’m falling apart and still feel put together, I can be frustrated. I’m allowed. It’s normal. It’s normal for anyone going through any struggle. It’s part and parcel of the healing process.

That’s the hope in my frustration…it means I’m healing.

#RosieStrong #FightLikeAGirl