In November of 2004, I was in the very best shape of my life. A few months prior, I had run my fastest marathon in San Diego, beating out all of my previous six finishing times in Austin, Nashville, Dallas, New York, and Boston. One month prior, I had completed the Los Angeles triathlon, finishing in the top bracket in my age division. I was even in the process of training to climb Mount Kilimanjaro with my brother. Then my entire world was turned upside down.
While getting blood work and the necessary vaccinations for my upcoming trip to Africa, we discovered my platelets were at a life-threatening level. Within 18 hours I was diagnosed with highly aggressive, incurable stage 4 non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I was only 27 years old. As soon as The Cancer entered my life, I faced it head-on with equal parts determination and denial.
I refused to accept my new limitations and it took me not one, not two, but three different diagnoses and two bone marrow transplants, each with 40% mortality rates, to finally give in to my new way of being. I had my moment of wanting to give up when I refused my last round of chemo after my second bone marrow transplant. I knew with certainty that no amount of joy could be worth the suffering I was in. Nurse Jan just needed me to squeeze her hand; just needed me to say okay; just needed me to choose life. But I couldn’t squeeze her hand. I couldn’t go on. Then I looked at the canvas print of my two miracle children, who were lying on the floor with our beloved dog, Riley. I focused on their smiles and innocent eyes. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the feel of their kisses on my hollow cheeks. I listened to my husband’s voice as he begged me to fight. All I had to do was keep my hand limp; keep it from responding to Nurse Jan and Tom’s pleas. All I had to do was let go and the suffering would all be over. All I had to do was nothing. But… The kids. My husband. Riley. I squeezed Nurse Jan’s hand.
Mine is a story of love, loss, pain, and the ultimate realization that the hope of true joy always outweighs the struggle. This is a story about the messiness of motherhood and the journey to healing. I know I have to tell this story. I understand that everyone can relate to a tale of struggle and the soul-searching that comes with hitting rock-bottom. I believe dogs heal and that love conquers all. I don’t believe in fairy-tale endings, but I do subscribe to the idea that we can always be given a second chance and that there really are some things in life that are worth the fight. See, thanks to cancer, I now know the struggle is what makes life worth living. That’s where we find the treasure. In the depth of our sorrow is where we find the good. In the darkness of our suffering is where we find the love. In the despair of our pain is where we find the hope. And that’s what it is all about. Hope. Because if we don’t have hope, then what the hell is the point?