Easter has become my Thanksgiving . . .

31 Mar

Last weekend I was invited to attend a blogging summit. The summit brought together cancer survivors (some 15 or more years out, some just a year out and some still in treatment). All of us blog or have blogged about our experience. We were also joined by medical practitioners (of many types: oncologists, radiology oncologists, naturopathic MDs, nutritionists, lymphedema specialists, nurses and and more) as well as care providers (who also blog) and other writers, journalists. I will write more about the blogging summit in a future post.

For now I want to simply say that being able to meet the amazing cancer survivors (some of whom I had only known online, in the virtual world, and some I had never met – virtual or otherwise) in person was truly incredible. I felt like I was meeting soul mates. There was just an immediate understanding of all things amongst us. That is the best way I can describe it.

There is a loneliness that cancer can visit upon you; does visit upon you I think (at least it did for me). I felt it most prominently four years ago – when all I wanted to do was to escape my body, run from it since it was, after all, seemingly trying to destroy me. It was a very strange sensation – one of being removed from seemingly everyone – despite the conscious and amazing presence that so many individuals in my life made to be there for me. I still felt so isolated. I was the one that could die from it and I was the one that had chemo coursing through my veins . . . you get my drift.

When cancer hits you are truly alone – at least with your cancer and your body. No one else has exactly the same thing, no one else will react exactly the same way (to treatment, to fatigue, to the pain, to the fear, to it . . . to cancer). No one can really tell you when you are in the throes of it whether you will make it or whether you will survive. And all around you there are both stories of survival and life as well as that of loss and death. And none of it makes any sense.

So back to the blogging summit. CTCA (Cancer Treatment Centers of America) hosted their second “blogger’s summit” in Arizona. I was fortunate enough to be invited . . . wow was I fortunate.

I met so many wonderful and amazing individuals at the blogger’s summit. To say that there is a kinship amongst those of us who are “survivors” and writers does not really quite capture it; not the depth of it anyway. It is something indescribable and quite frankly took me a bit by surprise. And, it is beginning to fill a void that I have felt for some time.  That sense of being removed from those around you; that loneliness . . . some of it that still lingers is melting away . . . a little. Meeting these wonderful people, with whom we have shared experience (that we wish we did not share) has helped me to feel less alone; less fearful.

The moment I became a cancer patient I became different. I was on the outside, removed somehow from everyone else . . . lonely.

At the summit we spoke about many things, there were presenters and questions etc. But, what was absolutely the most meaningful was the time with others who have been through, or cared for someone who has been through cancer (because they understand). We joked about cancer – not something everyone is comfortable doing. And we shared our stories, some of our fears and we talked about a future without cancer and survivorship. This was a room full of activists – women and men who want to spare others from having to either go through this disease or to at least spare them from having to go through it perhaps the way we did. And of course, we don’t want to go through it again ourselves.

I am so grateful for the time with these amazing individuals. And I look forward to these new friendships.

I am four years out from my diagnosis. I began treatment the week of Easter.

As someone who was raised Catholic, Easter has always had some meaning for me. But it is all the more meaningful for me now. Four years ago it was my first Easter with my youngest nephew . . . just a little baby then (who has now grown up into an exceptionally bright, talkative, engaging and delightful four and a half your old boy). That first Easter with him was very surreal.

A week into chemo, still a full head of hair (that was due to fall out) and the ever present thoughts of whether I would be there for his next Easter . . . all of that was surreal. I remember drinking up every moment with him and with my family that day. No one competed with me to hold him . . . the newest baby in our family. No one took him from my lap. No one. And although it was never said – we all knew why: it might be the last time I got to hold that baby.

I actively pushed away thoughts of whether he would he ever know his Auntie. But, I know it was a very present and real theme of that day, for all of us . . . for all of us except for the baby 🙂

Now he is four and a half. He knows his Auntie.

He pushes away pictures of me where I am bald and says “no, no, no”. . . he knows it is me in those bald photos. But somehow he knows that it was sick Auntie or at least not the Auntie he wants to see. And, in spite of the fact that some of those bald pictures with him are my absolute favorite, I kind of like that he now pushes those photos away . . .

These are a few of my very favorite pictures I possess:

April 2009, my nephew’s first Easter, a few days after my first round of chemo and a few weeks before I would be bald.

More of the same day . . . the only family member who could truly freely enjoy the day . . . what a gift he was and is . . .

July 2009, was still going through chemo. This is one of my favorite pictures . . . but, my nephew doesn’t like it 🙂 So I keep it to myself 🙂

So on Easter of 2009 I wasn’t sure if I would make it to Easter of 2010. Easter 2010 came, and I decorated Easter eggs for my nephew’s first Easter egg hunt. I was still in treatment then, very tired and still not sure I would make it to another Easter. But, again, my nephew, aware of none of these things, was an incredible source of joy and energy for me. Here he is delighting in his very first Easter Egg Hunt . . . that I was very grateful to be around for . . .

Happy Easter! My nephew Garrett, sheer delight!

Easter 2010 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Sunday and to those who are celebrating Easter, Happy Easter. I hope for many more Easters for all of of us.

Much love and peace,

Lisa

6 Responses to “Easter has become my Thanksgiving . . .”

  1. Sandy March 31, 2013 at 11:02 AM #

    Happy Easter! Good to have you still with us. 🙂

    I now know what you mean about the loneliness of cancer. There’s only so much caregivers can do for us psychologically, and if we let them realize that, it can break their hearts. I’ve joined two wonderful support groups, one on-line and one local, which are very upbeat and helpful. I took a survivorship class run by a psychiatric oncologist, and I’m participating in LiveStrong at the YMCA with fellow survivors. Kindred spirits, all. It really helps ease the loneliness of cancer.

    Let’s go do something fun! SuperMex? Walk on the beach? Call me anytime.

    Love,
    Sandy

    • cancerfree2b March 31, 2013 at 11:11 AM #

      Yes! Supermex . . . next week? I have the retreat (that I so wish you could attend) from the 4th through the 7th). I had a three week “sinus infection-flu-something-or-other” that I am done with (finally) and just in time to attend the blogger’s summit.

      I am so glad that you have found those support groups and the Livestrong program I hear is wonderful

      I miss you and can’t wait to see you.

      Let’s get together after the 7th when I return from retreat (I am volunteering at it this year and hope I do a good job – they did such hard work for me in 2011).

      I miss you and love you.

      XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

      Lisa

      • cancerfree2b March 31, 2013 at 11:13 AM #

        Oh, and a walk on the beach sounds great too!

        Love you and miss you!

  2. Facing Cancer (@cancer2gether) April 1, 2013 at 7:01 AM #

    Your nephew is adorable, and I’m so glad that four years later you are here to smile & play with him. It’s inspiring to me. ~Catherine

    • cancerfree2b April 1, 2013 at 1:33 PM #

      Hi Catherine!
      Thank you for commenting on my blog post. I am glad to be here and glad you are here too! 🙂 I hope you had a great weekend. It was great meeting you in Az!
      🙂
      All the best,
      Lisa

  3. bethgainer April 4, 2013 at 10:21 PM #

    Lisa, the summit sounds so beyond wonderful. You are right about cancer isolating each of us to some degree. It feels like one is less alone sharing the same blogosphere. By the way, I love the pictures of you and your nephew. He is simply adorable.

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