Not Always Easy

Never in my life would I ever think that age 20 I would be reading blogs, watching videos, and talking to others about how women deal with infertility.

Just a couple weeks ago my doctors informed me that it would be a miracle if I ever had children of my own due to the mass amount of treatments that were targeted to that area of my body.

It has definitely taken me a lot of processing and conversations to allow me to fully grasp the idea that I will have to tell my future husband that kids of our own may not be a possibility.

I write this with tears in my eyes because having children is something that I have always dreamed about, and the idea of it maybe never happening is heartbreaking.

There are so many people around me that are trying to get pregnant, and it breaks my heart because there is a huge possibility that will be me someday.

Then there are so many people around me having children, whom I am unbelievably happy and excited for, but holding those babies puts a bigger want in my heart. But the one thing that blesses me about these babies is that many of them have come after years of trying. That just proves to me that God really does do thing in his own timing.

I think God has given me a heart that loves deeply and truly. Whether or not I am able to have my own children someday will not hinder my ability to become a mom.

If there is something I have learned about my own story, it's that there can be so much redemption in someone's life when they become surrounded by positive people.

I have tried to say that this news has been a lot easier since having children is not something that is in my near future, but having it be something that is constantly coming up in conversation puts it on my mind. This all just makes me think of a friend who was told that she would not be able to have her children after chemo, radiation, and a stem cell transplant... And she is now on her third. She has helped me remember that doctor's 0% could easily be God's 100%.

I don't know what the journey to motherhood will look like for me, but I am putting my trust in a God who knows my heart.

Wisdom in the Simple Pleasures

It's been a month since I found out that I was in remission. Boy, does the time fly! AND I am almost done with this semester of hell. Praise God.

It wasn't before I heard the word 'cancer' for the first time that I really knew what fear was. At that very moment, I knew my life would never be the same. I learned to read every pain, every scan, every checkup for signs my cancer had spread.

And these fears didn't end with treatment. They have persisted because the danger still does. After I finished chemo, friends and family look at me with all of my hair still and very healthy looking and assumed I was all better. I have had to remind them through gritted teeth that my oncologist wouldn't call me cured for 5 years.

The second hardest phase—after my initial diagnosis—was the minute treatment ended. The reality set in and I have to live with this the rest of my life and the safety net is gone.

Cancer has stolen my youthful confidence that "everything is going to be alright."

People think chemo is the worst part of getting cancer, and yes, losing hair, nausea, and menopausal symptoms are awful. But those physical traits pale in comparison to the mental challenge of managing fear. I would analyze every word my doctor said and obsess over what it meant when he called my cancer aggressive. I have laid awake at night wondering if the pain in my stomach was from the food I ate or if there was a tumor.

But as a cancer patient and survivor, I learned to cope with the fear by being vigilant. I go into appointments with lists of things that I think could be abnormal, but the constant vigilance is exhausting. It is draining, but it has made me tough. Over the months—and the scares and biopsies and bad scan results—I learned something else besides fear. I learned that coping with fear is a muscle, and mine has gotten stronger. I have worked it. I have exercised it. I have come to believe it. I can face another biopsy because I have done it before.

Don't get me wrong. I still get nervous waiting for test results and I still monitor my aches and pains. But I take comfort in the passage of time—every month that goes by without incident lowers the chance of recurrence—and I know I can muscle through the fear and continue to live my life.

I live my life being thankful because having cancer has shown me how precious life is and that it can be stolen away at any moment. I have earned my gratitude, and I need to enjoy it.

After having lost chunks of hair and vomiting and fearing death for months, I have become remarkably easy to please. But I have found that there is wisdom in savoring simple pleasures.

I was walking across campus the other day, and the crisp morning breeze started blowing, and it blew my shirt against my skin in a way that made me stop and think, "This is what is means to be alive."

I've often had those realizations since my diagnosis. Sometimes when I am sitting in class watching the leaves fall outside or laying on a friends couch snuggling with a puppy, I am struck by how lucky I am to be living through such moments.

I have seen the alternative. 

I know I could just as easily be in a chemo chair, fighting off an infection in a hospital bed, or facing death. 

But instead I get to feel the sun and rain on my skin and hear my friend's laughter every day. 

Focus on the Light

I have spent the night wrestling with children, having tickle fights, eating baked mac n cheese and dino nuggets, watching Pocahontas, reading bedtime books, and tucking them into bed. 

I don't think that I can remember the last time I had the energy to do that.

I try not to think about how much I probably missed out on in the last 8 months of my life because this battle has not only changed me, but also people around me. If I could turn back in time and be faced with this situation again, I would gladly experience it ten times over, just to see what a wonderful effect it has had on me and the people around me.

Challenges like this define a person, not by what we experience, but by how we respond to that experience. 

When we are faced with something that seems so much bigger than imaginable, we figure out who we really are on the inside but what we do with the experience. 

I think about what was going on before I got cancer. I had just built many new friendships that were helping me realize that despite my broken past, I was whole and that my story is beautiful. I was preparing for my trip to Romania. I had been accepted into the social work program, and everything seemed right on track. I was blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

Although my life drastically changed, I am thankful to say that I had such an amazing support system that there was no way I was going to let this beat me down.

I truly believe that there is nothing that can happen to a person that can overwhelm or devastate them, unless they allow it. The secret to conquering any darkness is to always stay completely focused on the light. 

People keep telling me to "fight the fight," but if you were in a dark room, it does no good to punch your way through in an attempt to "fight the dark" The only way to make the darkness go away is to, quite simply, calmly locate the light switch and flip it to the on position. 

Darkness can only be replaced, it cannot be fought. 

And this directly applies as to how I dealt with my own war... I don't believe that I was fighting cancer. I was replacing the abnormal cells with a healthy set.

My daily thoughts were filled with dreams of a healthy, cancer-free body. I spent all my waking moments imagining that all my cells were healthy, vibrant, alive, active, and doing the job they are supposed to do... what they were intended to do.

Today is one of the first days where I feel like that is happening. 

We spent 8 months actively working on removing the cells that went haywire, through chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Then I went through the process of replacing those cells with blood transfusions and many shots. 

This is the "replacing the negative with the positive" thought process that helped me heal every day.

It is a dramatic shift in perception.

I don't have horrible looking scars. I have wounds that remind me that I am courageous. 

I didn't lose my hair. I chose to cut it off and give it away to someone who needs it more than me.

I didn't experience "extreme fatigue". I took much needed naps and spoiled myself with more rest than I deserved.

I am not surviving non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. I am a woman who is living each day the way it is supposed to be lived... full of life, love, joy, and laughter.

This is not the "year I battled cancer". This is the year I welcomed a fresh new healthy body.

I was not diagnosed with a terminal illness. I have been blessed with a reminder that it is important to live each day to its fullest and thank God that He made me whole again. 

We can't all live life in anticipation of death. The fact is, we are all suffering from a terminal illness. We are all dying...eventually.

And just because I was diagnosed with cancer doesn't mean I know how I am going to die. A random speeding bus could hit me tomorrow. So does it make sense to live my life worrying about random buses? Absolutely not. 

Nor will I live out the rest of my life worrying about my cancer.

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." Psalm 23:4.