Tag Archives: cancer survivor

Waiting for Results

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It’s cancer. No it’s not. It has to be, otherwise why wouldn’t they publish my biopsy results on the patient portal. Why is no one calling back? It’s been over two weeks now. Where are my results?

Then I think, this will change everything. And at the same time, this will change nothing. At this very moment, I am cancer free. As long as the phone doesn’t ring I am cancer free.

But what would change exactly? I made a vow that I would continue to coach and serve and do this work—no matter what, no matter if the cancer came back, that I would do this work until my very last day on earth.

If I am found to have a cancer recurrence, what would really change, and would it be all that bad? Wouldn’t I remember to be a more patient mom, a more present wife, daughter and friend? Wouldn’t I remember to savor every little thing because time is so very precious? Wouldn’t I eat better, knowing full well all the sugary, acidic and processed foods that create an environment for cancer cells to thrive in. Wouldn’t I make sure to rest more when I need it? Maybe I’d even take the foot off the brake and prioritize writing my book, to get all those stories together into one collection at last.

None of this would be so bad. But it seems totally crazy that here I am, already trying to flip the script, to find the good in this hypothetical as I sit and wait for the stupid phone to ring. The black iPhone screen stares vacuous, and suddenly it feels heavy, like a loaded weapon.

adobe-style-houseMaybe the doctor won’t call because she doesn’t know how to spill the bad news. She and I just met a month ago. I told her if it comes back positive, that I wasn’t going to have another surgery. Not this surgery. I told her that I was going to just go live out my days in the desert. The fantasy is that I tell no one, but slip away in the night. I can’t put my family and friends through this again. I would find a little clay adobe house with a dirt floor, a bed, a desk, a small kitchenette and a wood stove for when the nights turn cold. I can see the particles of dust in the shaft of light that pours in from above the kitchen sink. I tell no one. This is where I will write my last story and the sun and the clay and the dry heat will mummify me. Years later someone will find me clutching a notebook.

Then the phone rings. It is the doctor—FINALLY. The results are negative. No cancer.

I can finally exhale, and return my fingers to their keyboard dance.

Time to get back to work.

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Finding the Path Through the Pain: a Roadmap to Rebuilding Your Life After Cancer

PathAfter treatment ends, and the “Survivor Confetti” is swept away, there are unique challenges for the younger cancer survivor. While much of the focus is on the newly diagnosed, and the actual fight to overcome cancer, little is discussed about this latter part of the healing journey.

As a 3 year survivor, I know firsthand what it takes to forge through this rocky terrain. After being diagnosed with an aggressive form of hereditary breast cancer at the age of 36, I felt my life unravel. A dark curtain fell and I could see nothing beyond the imminent surgery and treatment. While wrestling with the bare bones of survival, there was no space for my plans and dreams. I was coming apart, piece by piece, shedding layers of my life, until I was unrecognizable to myself.

After treatment ended, I could grow new hair and heal surgical wounds, but no one could tell me how to recover my life. Biologically speaking, I was living, but I felt like a shell of a person. The old life no longer fit. I was in this strange post-treatment terrain, where I could barely speak the language and didn’t have a map.

As a Life Coach, I have honed survival skills that have aided in processing and healing my body, heart and soul. It’s my mission to share what I have learned with as many people as I can. I want to help others draw their unique map through the pain and uncertainty of facing cancer mid-life.

Cancer doesn’t discriminate. It can strike a person at any age, but for the purposes of this article, I am speaking to people between the ages of 25-50, give or take a few years. In this stage of life, our healthy peers are building their careers and families; they are taking vacations, buying homes, planning and saving for the future. A cancer diagnosis completely blindsides you during what should be a productive period of life. These are some of the challenges that we face:

You’ve “Graduated” Out of Treatment:  It took Herculean strength to slog through all the treatments and doctor appointments. You were so focused on the finish line, that you hadn’t really considered what’s next. Without the structure and focus of a treatment plan, and the weekly or biweekly appointments, it’s like being set adrift on a raft with no oars.

The Pain No One Sees: Your hair starts to grow in. Your immune system rebuilds to the point where you can safely come out in public. You might look like a completely healthy person on the outside, but on the inside you are still struggling with the after effects of cancer treatment. People stop asking you how you’re doing and what you need. Instead, people tell you how great you look and how brave and strong you are. Inside you may struggle with a combination of crippling chemo brain, exhaustion and lack of stamina, neuropathy, pain at the site of surgery or radiation, infertility, menopause symptoms including hot flashes, night sweats, low to no sex drive, and fuzzy thinking. You might feel disfigured, and struggle with sadness, anger, fear, anxiety and depression.

The Ticking Clock: After treatment ends, you are living in this paradox of urgency. You want to make up for lost time, but have also learned the value of slowing down. You want to catch up with your healthy peers, to recover the lost income, to attend all the social and family events that you had to sit out on. You want to get on with living your life! It’s like an inner voice is shouting, “Go, Go, Go!” but you’re still trying to pull your feet up out of sticky tar. On a good day you might feel a new energetic spring in your step, only to find the next day that you’ve overdone it and need an extra day to recover.

The Looming Cloud of Recurrence: After a cancer diagnosis, a headache or a toothache or a backache can evoke waves of panic and send you scurrying to research what those symptoms mean. If we hope for the best, but prepare for the worst, we might be able to tell ourselves we’ve shored up our defenses, that we will be ready if and when “the other shoe drops”. What ends up happening is that we are living in a heightened state of stress, an ongoing fight, flight or freeze mode. The resulting stress hormones, tension and sleep loss make things worse.

Survivor Guilt: You can’t help notice cancer everywhere after you’ve had a diagnosis. You will likely have friends and family who will face their own cancer battles. Not everyone will see the same treatment finish line. It hurts to see and hear about the people we care about, or even complete strangers, getting diagnosed or worse, losing their battle with cancer. If you’ve hooked into a survivor support system, you might experience the loss of a person who battled alongside you. This loss is triggering and you might find yourself wondering, “Why me?” The inner dialogue might go like this: “How come I’m still here but she is not? What makes me so special? I had better do something significant with my life now. How will I face her family? That could have been me.”

So how do you find your path through the pain and uncertainty, and rebuild a fulfilling and sustainable life after cancer? Some key aspects to include in your Cancer Recovery Roadmap are mindfully tending to your emotions, engaging your future vision, and making specific, attainable goals.

Through my personal experience as a survivor and my professional training as a coach, I have developed a toolkit of techniques to guide fellow survivors in the creation of their unique recovery map. As a coach I hold a sacred and confidential space for processing the pain and the personal impact of this experience. I listen deeply and ask powerful questions. I teach tools to help manage the fear and uncertainty, and deepen your feelings of resiliency and strength. I hold open a bold and brave vision for your future self, and support you as you step into this new phase of your life.

If you would like some support right now, email me at Melissa@MelissaEppardCoaching.com and I will send you 5 Ways to Manage Survivor Stress.