Since starting this blog I have had a few people ask me what it felt like to hear the words, “You have cancer.” It’s hard for me to describe, so let me share with you a quote from David Fajenbaum that perfectly describes that moment for me. He writes, “I knew the language the doctors use, the careful truth-telling, the hedging, the open endedness. I’ve spoken that language before. Now that it was directed at me, it didn’t feel nearly as careful or open ended as I’d once assumed. Instead, the words felt like they were casting me out of the room, out of the hospital entirely. I’d been consigned to the plane of possibility. Anything was possible because no one knew. I was on my own.” – Hope Wears Sneakers
I still live on that plane of possibility.
Honestly, I’ve just begun to realize that my life is a chronic condition. By that I mean that up until recently I was still in crisis mode. 15 years. It’s been exhausting. Whether it was never hearing the word “cured” or not being able to ring the bell at the end of treatments, the constant testing or if it’s part of the drug trial – whatever the reason it’s been quite the realization process. So, now that I’m aware of this chronic condition, what do I do? Wouldn’t it be great if there was such a thing as a chronic incurable friendship to go along with my chronic incurable life? People who would stick around no matter what – that they understand that each scan, new detailed lab work, every specialist appointment feels like (and is) life or death? People who would understand my dark humor and my need to spend time alone, and yet they stay.
Guess what?
I already have a few of those!
BONUS: they already knew that I am chronic with a hint of crisis. (I wonder if that should be my personality type? Hmmmmm….)
These people have helped create a new and special type of magic that combats the pain, both physical and mental, of living with chronic health conditions. You’ve already been introduced to my Core Four. Let me introduce you to one of my chronic friends, Amy W.
Amy and I met in Colorado and became instant friends – the type of friend that makes you feel like you’ve known them forever. Her classroom was right across the hall from my office and we shared just about everything that was going on in our lives. Amy and I have so much in common: we are both stubborn, hate to be a burden to anyone, self-sufficient, creative and full of compassion for the underdog. We both love all things theater, especially the artistic choices in set design, staging and character development. We could see a play together 100 times before we would run out of things to talk about or discover.
Amy is the first chronic friend that joined my crazy life who was not a part of my life while I was battling cancer. We met during the “post-cancer but my body continues to fall apart” phase of life. She understood me. She stayed.
I cannot tell you how healing that is to my soul.
Amy understood from day one that my life meme is the one that says, “I hate to cancel. I know we made plans to get together tonight, but that was two hours ago. I was younger then and full of hope.” Trust me, I did a lot of cancelling on her. Yet she still stayed.
Since those early days in Colorado, Amy and I have gone through a lot of heartache together. We both lost our jobs when the school downsized. We have both lost a parent to cancer. We both moved away from our beloved state, and we did not move to the same state. Yet, she still stayed and even comes to visit me. She doesn’t stress or become fearful when she doesn’t hear from me, because she still “gets it” – we don’t need to be together to be friends, because ours is a chronic incurable friendship. No matter how long we are apart, or go without texting or calling (well, calling doesn’t usually work because she also knows how much I hate to talk on the phone), we can pick right back up and carry on as though no time has passed.
We also share another thing in common, and how I wish it were not so. My Amy W has cancer. Those parts of me that she understood, she now understands what caused them because she’s experiencing them now. The fear, the hope, the planning (oh, there is so much planning involved when you receive a cancer diagnosis), the life-focus adjustments, the being strong for those around you when you don’t feel strong, the inner strength that comes roaring out when it is needed, navigating tests and procedures during a pandemic while the world is in chaos… so many things I wish we didn’t share.
The joy and comfort of having friends that are chronic and incurable are that no matter what – no matter what, they won’t leave. No difference of opinion, no level of heartache, no misunderstanding ever changes the friendship. It’s solid. It’s messy. It’s Lucy and Ethel laugh out loud funny. It’s comforting each other when there are no words. It’s speaking truth in love. It’s no matter what – no matter what, they don’t leave.
It’s an investment.
Oh, how I wish we each could move towards this type of friendship with those around us. Not every friendship is the same, but our approach in how we see each other could be the same. To see the person, not the affiliation.. the person, not the social status.. the person, not the social media post.. the person, not the snapshot of one moment in their life.
So many hours of my week are spent dealing with the chronic and incurable effects from my cancer treatment. It’s hard. It’s scary. It’s frustrating. However, the actual living of my life is pretty wonderful. What makes the difference? The human connection. The raw, real, honest and uncancellable frienships.
I guess I could say that the pain and heartache brought on by the chronic incurable conditions of my life are exceeded by the joy, hope and love brought on by the chronic incurable friendships in my life. I lead a blessed life and am so very grateful.
The Time that is Given 