March 2016 archive

Grief is…

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It follows no timeline, has no standards, and does not discriminate. No amount of preparation, readiness, or allowance can ease the process. It comes and goes and rarely gives you a heads up of its impending arrival. It’s sneaky. It’s complex. It’s never simple. Grief is oh so good, yet oh so bad. It is equally painful as it is soothing. Grief is confusing. And though it is healthy and necessary, the majority of us avoid grieving because we simply cannot understand it.

Last week was a doozy. I found myself stuck in bed for the majority of Tuesday and I couldn’t figure out why. As usual, I went to the gym first thing in the morning. Typically that gets my endorphins running and sets the tone for my day and, while it worked for the moment, I still found myself slowly colliding with an invisible force. No amount of caffeine riddled pre-workout supplements nor the natural rush of dopamine and serotonin could combat the stealthy reflexes of grief.

I came home and went through my checklist of to-do’s as Matt left for work. Soon, I was crying. Soft, quiet tears rolled down my cheeks as I tried to search for a reason why. I looked in the mirror weeping with brows furrowed in confusion, as if searching for the answer in my own eyes. My tears were exhausted, reflective, and sad. But why? After all, I’m cancer free! I’m healthy and active. My energy has returned and I’m able to accomplish things I wasn’t able to for years. My business is building and beginning to thrive. My relationships are fulfilling. I’m happy. I’m joyful. None of these attributes should evoke tears… at least not despondent ones.

So, I continued about my day. Instead of seeking a new coffee shop, or even settling into my home office, I grabbed my laptop, notebooks, pens, and a soft blanket and retreated to the comforts of our bed. I began to work. I answered emails, brainstormed business ideas, and read a few pages of a newly purchased book. Yet no matter what I did to try and distract myself, I couldn’t shake the heavy burden. Instead of fighting it, soon I gave in. I surrendered and allowed myself to walk through the emotions, regardless of if I could understand them or not.

Grief is invisible, yet so tangibly present. It’s not an opponent that can be defeated because it’s not an opponent at all. Throughout my years of grieving, brought on suddenly by my diagnosis of cancer, I’ve learned that grief isn’t my enemy. Grief is a hand held out, bringing me through the darkness and offering light at the end of the tunnel. Grief is good. It’s a sign of healing and recovery. Of movement and growth.

I get trapped into thinking that because I’ve overcome and have reached the light at the end of the tunnel, there is no longer room for grief. However, it doesn’t always work that way. Grief follows it’s own patterns and rules, remember? After a few days of allowing grief to guide me, I began to understand. I was able to identify my emotions, thoughts, and feelings. The time I spent fighting cancer was undefinably difficult. Yet, the time after cancer is difficult, too, in it’s own ways. I’m still not quite sure who I am after all of this. I know my purpose, but I fear not fulfilling it. The exhale of life after is much longer than I expected. What I’ve learned is that grief can’t always be pinpointed to a single moment or tragedy. I can say with generalization that cancer is the cause of my grief, but it’s much more complex than that. For instance, if you were to ask me why I was sad, I wouldn’t have an answer. Grief cannot always be defined, and that’s okay.

The truth is, life after [fill in the blank] is hard for all of us. We expect things to be nice, full of happiness and ease, at a certain point after tragedy. We put parameters on our grief and set deadlines for when it should end. If only. Many who have walked through tragedy find that grief can be triggered years later in the most unassuming ways. Some deny grief, trying to suffocate it, in hopes that it’ll go away. Unfortunately, that never works. Grief is meant to be experienced. If we attempt to avoid, ignore, or deny it, it often shows up with exaggerated force. But the opposite isn’t helpful either. If we hold onto grief for longer than necessary, it can turn into an impossibly heavy burden that we aren’t meant to carry.

Grief is… good. In the end, it really is. It’s worth it. It’s hard and uncomfortable and untimely. Yet, when we allow ourselves to view grief as a hand held out, guiding us to complete healing, our lives can be changed. Grief offers perspective, and as long as we walk through it for the amount of time we are meant to, it can lead to restoration. Grief is painful because it reminds us of our loss, but it is soothing because it transforms our tragic memories, thoughts, and emotions into those of honor, reverence, and even celebration. When we grieve, we allow the pain to be soothed by joy, by hope, and by faith. Grief is the final step to reaching the light at the end of the tunnel and without it, we’re simply trapped in our tragedy. Press forward. There is light at the end of it.

Matthew 5:4 (MSG)

“You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.”

The Financial Burden of Young Adult Cancer

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(As seen in Cancer Knowledge Network’s #YARally)

I’ve endured thousands of needle pricks, undergone painful surgeries, and have withstood innumerable grueling treatments. I’ve been sick, bald, weak, over-medicated, under-medicated, poked, prodded, pained, and simply desperate for life. I’ve been triumphant, encouraged, accomplished, fortunate, blessed, and hopeful. I’ve gained insight, wisdom, and more medical knowledge than I could have ever imagined. My perspective has flourished and evolved. I have found a depth of joy that many never will. I’ve grieved loss. I’ve suffered hardship. I’ve authentically experienced mortality. I’ve overcome. I am brave and strong and alive. Yet among those things, I am also overwhelmingly burdened.

I survived cancer, but my bank account did not.

What many never mention in the beginning of your battle is that cancer is expensive. Not designer purse expensive. Not home mortgage expensive. Not even dream vacation expensive. Cancer is life-saving expensive. And frankly, before you’re thrust into the fight of your life, you can’t fathom what expensive really means.

Before diagnosis, my husband and I were newlyweds building up our savings account. We both worked full-time jobs and lived comfortably enough to enjoy frequent date nights and yearly vacations. We were building our nest egg with dreams of purchasing our first home and expanding our family. We paid our bills on time and lived with financial peace. But then cancer happened, and soon our nest egg dwindled to mere pennies.

Surgeries, treatments, and hospital visits began invading our monthly calendar. Our mailbox began filling up with bills from surgeons, anesthesiologists, technicians, physicians, and oncologists. And what we first felt was manageable soon became overwhelming. Not only did we need to process our emotions and feelings about me being diagnosed with an extremely rare and aggressive cancer at only 25 years old, but we also needed to process how we would pay for it all. What would our insurance cover? Are these doctors in-network? How much is our copay? Have we met our deductible yet? What are the tax implications for this?

The big question was, “Can we afford to save my life?”

Soon, I had to quit working. My first surgery was a radical hysterectomy in which I was horizontally cut open from one hip to the other; to say I was in pain would be an exaggerated understatement. My initial tumor happened to be deeply embedded in my pelvis. Post-procedure, I was sore, aching, and miserable. The first surgery resulted in a week-long hospital stay. I couldn’t walk up or down the stairs for nearly two months. I couldn’t drive. I couldn’t even sit comfortably. Therefore, working my full-time job was no longer feasible. Part-time became impossible as well. We became dependent on my husband’s income and, for a short time, had to move back home to live with my family.

Since then, I’ve had three recurrences. Each fight against cancer has involved surgery and treatment. And each surgery and treatment must be paid for. In total, I’ve received four major surgeries (each involving week-long hospital stays), 55 chemotherapies, 28 consecutive radiation treatments, a port placement procedure, blood transfusions, emergency room visits, innumerable prescription medications, doctor’s visits, and CT/PET scans. Each one came with a pricetag. Cancer has literally taken us to the bank.

My husband and I have learned that life doesn’t stop when cancer begins. Rent, electricity, cable and internet, trash, car insurance, phone bills, student loans, and more needed to be paid. So we began to compartmentalize. Survival here. Payment there. We found a basket to store medical bills in until we gathered up enough courage to go through them. We found ourselves transferring money from savings until our savings account dried up. With the help of our loving family and friends, fundraisers were held and money was raised to assist us. And though prior to cancer, receiving a $10,000 check would seem like a large sum of money, it soon barely put a chip in our medical debt.

Surviving cancer as a married person who can rely on their spouse for an income has been taxing, yet there are thousands of single young adults fighting for their lives without any means to pay for it. At 29, a friend of mine was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer. She was single, active, employed, financially stable, and living on her own. Yet, like many upon diagnosis, she quickly learned that she could not afford her increasing bills. She soon had to move back in with her family and sublet her apartment. Without money to pay for her cost of everyday living, she began to heavily rely on her credit card. Within three years, she was thousands of dollars in debt and hadn’t even paid a single medical bill. It’s a story that is all too common for many YA survivors.

YA’s with cancer are not only fighting for their lives, but they are being buried in medical debt. Having to decide whether to purchase weekly groceries or pay a recent chemotherapy bill is not a decision anyone should have to make. Even when treatment ends and a young adult is declared cancer-free, the burden of debt often remains for years to come.

I’ve been out of treatment for one year, and the bills continue to flow in. I’ve developed a fear of voicemails and unknown callers, and when my phone rings, my heart grows heavy. The reality is, like many of my fellow survivors, several of our medical bills have now gone to collection agencies and they persistently call us in hopes that we can reconcile them. My husband and I have paid thousands and thousands of dollars, and still have thousands more to go. We have found the light at the end of the tunnel and are slowly but surely recovering from cancer. The financial burden, though still present, is growing lighter.

It may sound crazy, but we’d do it all over again. We simply cannot put a pricetag on my life. And you shouldn’t either. The bills will come and the money will go. Life is too precious to be seen through the lens of a dollar sign.

“Romans 8:28 (ESV)

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

*Photo: Flickr

10 Ways To Be Better Not Bitter

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Life has a way of throwing curveballs. We’re all recipients of unwanted detours, closed doors, and unfortunate circumstances. In fact, I once heard that if you feel good about where you’re at and what you’re doing, be prepared, because it’s all about to come crashing down. I’d say that while it’s a rather fatalistic viewpoint, there is some truth to it. Life isn’t easy and it never will be. We all have seasons of greatness where everything seems to be going right, when stars align and favor shines down on us. But likewise, we each experience tragedy that seems to strike at all the wrong moments. Death, divorce, accidents, sickness. We’re all susceptible to unforeseen affliction. It’s not about avoiding or denying misfortune, it’s about being prepared for it. It’s about allowing tragedy to make us better and not bitter.

My husband and I were married on a beautiful, sunny day in June. We had a blissful romance. Our first date lasted for 9 hours and, by the second date, I knew I would marry him. We laughed, loved, and enjoyed each other. We might as well have had a Disney soundtrack playing behind us as we moved into our first home, spent many nights cooking together, and lived a fulfilling and abundant life. Then, right as we were gaining our newlywed momentum and forging our way as us against the world, life hit. 19 months after we shared our “I Do’s”, I was diagnosed with cancer and given a less than 20% chance to survive. Our curveball came barreling into our white-picket existence and we were left facing a tragedy of the highest magnitude.

It would be easy to be bitter after everything that’s happened since our wedding day in 2010. It would be natural to be bitter after the loss we’ve endured. It would be expected that bitterness would reside in our hearts after all of this time. But facing the end of your life will teach you something. And what we learned is that we have a choice to make in our struggle. We can become better or bitter, but we can’t have both. Be intentional about where your heart rests. Bitterness is sneaky and creeps in at the first drop of your guard. Here are 10 practical ways to be better instead of bitter.

  1. Choose Joy. And I’m not talking about happiness. There’s a distinct difference between the two. Happiness is an outward expression while joy is an inward decision. Happiness is a reaction to what’s going on around us. Joy is a conscious choice that no matter what happens, you will rise above. Choosing joy will transform the way you live. It will allow you to see beyond your circumstance to what really matters.
  2. Grieve, But Get Back Up. Grief is a normal response to a tragic situation. It’s okay to cry, scream, and get angry. It’s okay to eat an entire pint of ice cream to drown away your sorrows. Grief is healthy. Be sad. Be upset. Be hurt. But don’t stay there. Walk through those feelings, but make sure you continue to walk. Giving up in the middle of grief can swallow you whole. When you’ve finished your ice cream, set the spoon down. Holding onto grief can paralyze your process. If you want things to get better, feel it and follow through.
  3. Pick Your Friends Wisely. Some friends serendipitously fall into our lives while others are hard-earned. Remember, you are who you surround yourself with. If Bitter Betty is your bestie, her bitterness will most definitely rub off on you. Be mindful of how your friends make you feel. If they bring you down, cut them off. The same goes for certain family members. If you have a sibling/parent/cousin/etc that can’t stop crying over the spilt milk, step away. Find relationships that speak life into your circumstance. Everyone needs Positive Polly as a friend.
  4. Keep The Faith. No matter your religion or beliefs, have faith. Faith that it is going to get easier. Faith that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Without belief in something, there can’t be a belief in anything. My faith in God rescued me from bitterness. He is my strength when I have none. He will make a way where there is no way. Have faith that where you are now is not where you will always be.
  5. Have Hope. Similar to faith, we must never lose hope. Hopelessness is a breeding ground for bitterness. Those who give up hope often fester in bitterness until the very end. When everything else fades away, hope will be your anchor. When catastrophe comes, hope will be the gentle salve that heals your wounds. Hope gives us a future perspective and allows us to grow through our trials.
  6. Be Intentional. Don’t drift. Complacency leads to dissatisfaction and resentment. Without intent we become victims. We fall prey to our tragedy. A victim mentality is a guarantee for bitterness. Every curveball has limitations, but living without intent allows our challenges to overpower every area. Maintain some level of normalcy and be intentional about how you spend your days. Sitting on the couch is a recipe for disaster during life’s battles. We rarely have the choice of what challenges we will face, but we do have the choice on how we will respond. Being intentional is a sure-fire way to take your power back.
  7. Find The Lesson. Though it may be the proverbial needle in a haystack, you can find lessons in your tragedy. I’m not referring to reason why the tragedy happened, but rather the wisdom you can glean from it. Every struggle can teach you something. My fight against cancer has completely changed my life. There are many disappointments that have resulted from my diagnosis, yet, because I’ve searched for the lessons, I’ve become a better person. I’ve learned more during my lowest points than I ever have in my highest.
  8. Count Your Blessings. It’s easy to focus on the negative in the middle of misfortune. Remember that life hasn’t always been and won’t always be difficult. We all have reasons to be thankful. Focusing on the positive things in your life will shield you against bitterness. Blessings block bitterness. It’s as simple as that.
  9. Get Healthy. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually. We all feel better when we feel better. When physically weak, get emotionally strong. When emotionally weak, go to the gym and grow those muscles! Pay attention to what you’re putting into your body. Eat what gives you life. Though few want to cook healthy meals and would rather opt for quicker and easier options when life gets hard, making healthier choices will pave the way towards a better life. Treat your body kindly, it’s the only one you get.
  10. Help Others. Your tragedy gives you insight into what others may be experiencing. Be what you needed when you were thrown a curveball for someone else. Serving others gives us an outward perspective and allows us to see life for more than what it may feel like in difficult seasons. There will always be someone else who has it worse. Reaching out and lending a helping hand betters not only you, but the one you’re serving.

Hebrews 12:15 (MSG)

“Make sure no one gets left out of God’s generosity. Keep a sharp eye out for weeds of bitter discontent.”