I am sitting here counting down the minutes until a live virtual event starts where I am going to be honored by the Cancer Support Community and MyLifeLine.org Cancer Foundation with the 2020 George Karl Courage Award. My stomach hurts because I’m feeling a wide range of emotions. I feel honored because I am among many with a courageous story. I feel selfish because I am among many with a courageous story. I feel grateful because I get to receive the award, on behalf of my story and my people. I’m anxious because I don’t know how I’ll look on camera and will my genuine gratitude be experienced virtually? I feel confused because I’m not quite sure how to feel. I feel disappointed because of how things had to change because of covid (join the club, I know). I feel relieved because, in the name of transparency, getting all dressed up in ‘derby wear’ felt really stressful. I feel the sadness of the universal cancer story because of what cancer takes. I also feel the universal strength in resilience because of what cancer can’t take. Most of all, I feel the purposeful weight of the risk taken in both authenticity and vulnerability. 

[…..Paused my writing to watch the virtual event…..]

Throughout the program, I experienced the beauty of the cancer community. I saw the names of my people in the chat and the names of my people on the list of generous givers and felt so overwhelmed with gratitude. I loved seeing my friend Marcia on screen. I found out that a horse named Authentic won the Kentucky Derby today (could there be a more perfect winner?!). It was an honor to hear George Karl say my name. …and watching the video story of my family and I brought a depth of tears that I haven’t yet cried.

It’s not just a simple, ‘Thank you for this award and goodnight.’ There is so much more it represents. Getting this award acknowledges the courage required to get here. Getting this award also acknowledges the courage required to survive …however it all looks. 

This is my acceptance speech and it was so hard to keep it to a minute and a half. A little because I like to use a lot of words (hello, word nerd) but mostly because the list of who and what is honored with me in this, is long. 

“I am so very honored to represent the courage of cancer for all of us…Thank you Cancer Support Community. And MyLifeLine, I’m so thankful I get to call you friends.
For me, cancer is teaching me to deepen my faith rather than give up on it. To not resent the unknown but instead find it freeing. To sit in the silence and listen to the richness of the moment. To choose vulnerability even when it is hard. To endure. To hold BOTH authenticity and gratitude together.
For the people in my story, I’m in awe of you. Chris, your perseverance, selflessness and relentless love. Haleigh, your resilience and adaptability. Catelyn, your anchored faith, quiet peace and steadfast light. Anabelle, your boldness and fierce conviction. Mom and Dad, your generosity, fortitude and unwavering support. For our incredible families, your constant presence and willingness to step in and step up and for my dear friends, your availability and consistent encouragement. Each one of these sentiments represents a depth of gratitude indescribable…I could go on for days. But I am just so very grateful for you all.
Courage is the battle. It is the caregiver. It is surviving. It is living changed, 5 minutes at a time. It is choosing to learn what cancer teaches. And it is trusting that God wastes nothing.
Thank you.”

For those closest to me in my story, thank you for being there for the hard then and the hard today and the hard in the days to come. 

For those battling… for those caregiving… for those doctors and nurses and medical staff… for those survivors… for those left behind… just show up and do the best you can. THAT’S courage.

*Post 884

9/5/17 :: Post 4 :: Surrender…

Now Chris has strep. …………….um. What? ……Seriously? The one week that I simply cannot get sick I have a daughter AND husband get strep. And I kissed him goodbye this morning. Cuz, well, he’s my husband… I even thought to myself in that moment, “hmmm, that may not have been the best idea…” *eye roll…it’s too late now*

He called me when I was finishing up my day to tell me that he had strep in case I wanted to sleep somewhere else tonight or to see if I wanted him to sleep somewhere else. I had a total meltdown. I cried. I cussed. I laughed. I cried. I cussed. I laughed.

Unbelievable.

On any normal day, strep sucks but it’s no big thing. You get some antibiotics and in a day or so you’re feeling back to normal. But remember, I don’t get to go back to the normal I had. I have a new normal. And this normal is that I cannot get sick or my surgery gets postponed. I don’t want a postponed surgery…I want the cancer out NOW. Oh, and by the way, I found a third mass, I think. Either that or it moved…. Effing cancer.

I spent my evening crying out to God…waving my white flag…asking why and wondering what, in His name, He is doing… Why would He order everything the way He has if it wasn’t going to happen? Why would my number one person come down with strep and feel like crap when all he wants to do is care for me? I have had to wrap my head around what is going on in my life, I have had to wrap my head and heart and spirit around a major surgery where I will wake up and never.ever.ever look or be the same. To have Friday (only 2 days away) be so close and yet sooooooooo distant. And to have a stupid little thing like strep be so big that my entire world was brought to a halt. What if I get it? What if I can’t have surgery? How long will I have to wait? Will the cancer spread? How will I go into work on Monday when I have worked so hard to set everything up for me to be gone? An incredible community of people have set up meals for me and my family on the assumption Friday’s surgery is happening… ……Strep. ……What? ….Now? …..Really?

As I was crying and desperately trying to make sense of everything, I heard a word in my head that I pushed out of my head. And then it came back. And then I pushed it away. And then it came back… “Surrender”

I was gently reminded in that moment of all of the other stuff God has been helping me learn this past year. I don’t have to be on the roller coaster. I can choose to get off of it (thank you, Kathy, for that). I need to be present in today. Not tomorrow cuz it hasn’t happened yet. At my wits end, when every nerve is fried, when every beat of my heart is felt in my head as a pounding pain, when my eyes are tired and burning from the tears, when I have strained my logic to try and make sense of everything, when I have predicted every possible freight train and prescribed how I will plan for my response, when I have forgotten the now as I desperately cling to what I can’t control anyways… A gentle reminder of “surrender.”

Seriously, though…. As Chris and I sat here just baffled at the circumstances and everything we have walked through this past month, as he looked online to see how long someone is contagious before and after meds start, as we realized that I was exposed days before this, it occurred to us that there is nothing we can do. There is nothing we can control in this moment. I either have it or I don’t. I will either make it to Friday’s surgery or I won’t. And what it is, will be. 

Never have I felt more vulnerable, out of control and at the complete mercy of things so intangible. Never have I wished more for time to fast forward. Never have minutes felt more like centuries. I am hopeful I make it to Friday’s surgery. I feel the Lord asking me to really learn how to surrender. But my heart is struggling to feel that peace of God, who has what’s best for me, because all I can see is Friday. Friday will be one of the hardest and most difficult hurdles for me to ever cross and to have it not be assured is one of the hardest places to be. My head acknowledges the value of surrender. My heart struggles. Please Lord Jesus, have mercy. *Breathe in…”Jesus have mercy on me” *Breathe out…His mercy fills my soul. *Breathe in…breathe out…. *Breathe in…breathe out…

9/5/18 :: Post 356 :: Hug

It’s all too hard. Everything about today was rough. Start to finish. And when I’m at my lowest, I just want a hug. A big hug. But the saddest thing – hugs aren’t the same anymore…..they hurt. I have to go into a hug protecting myself or bracing myself for pain. I can’t just let my kids run and throw their whole bodies into me. I can’t have my husband embrace me tightly and envelop me. 

I wish I would have known this…that I could have been prepared…that I could have soaked in every second of the feeling of a hug without pain before cancer. It’s amazing what we take for granted. And it’s devastating all that cancer has taken.

9/5/19 :: Post 721 :: Deep

Up at 5:30a. In bed at 10:45p. And A LOT in between. 

I can hardly move. And I feel the deep pain in every part of my body.

I hate cancer for what it took from me.