Sometimes it’s hard to write posts that are a little more emotionally charged but I started A Pretty Disaster as a way to communicate what’s on my heart.
Here I go…
When my oncologist said that this would be the hardest year of my life, she wasn’t kidding.
When she told me that I would feel as if I had the flu for an entire year straight, she sure wasn’t wrong.
My oncologist and oncology nurse told me in those first appointments (before I started treatment) that they didn’t want to sugarcoat anything so they tried to prepare me for the symptoms I would experience and what my life would consist of for the next year of my life.
But thinking back to those times and those appointments, I seriously had no idea what impact chemo would have on my body and the obstacles that would come with doing a full year of cancer treatment. I was scared to start treatment but I was even more scared not to start. I wasn’t able to grasp what the next year of my life would be like.
And now that this has been my life for the past ten months, I have been reflecting on how I have essentially lost a year of my life to get the rest of it.
I am trying to choose my words carefully because I have not yet experienced something like pregnancy or experienced a debilitating disease like ALS or MS and for this reason, I need to be careful here…but there are a lot of people who have not (luckily and thankfully) experienced cancer treatment either. And I believe that there is a difference between your body fighting for its life and your body creating a life…
Forgive me if I’m wrong.
And I totally understand that some women face unpleasant and hard pregnancies and my heart goes out to them. To those women who have experienced a difficult pregnancy, I am sorry, and I hope no offence is taken here. I am in no way, shape, or form, saying that pregnancy isn’t hard. It is a choice.
But I would take the scars on my body if it meant I was growing a life inside of me.
I would take the nausea if it meant that a baby was inside me taking my nutrients and all the things it needs.
I would take the fatigue if it meant that a baby was using all of my energy to grow.
I would take the pain and the body aches from growing a human life.
But I would never want these things from cancer and yet cancer has given me all of them. I didn’t choose cancer. I didn’t choose to be diagnosed with the disease that tried to kill me (trust me, everyone will attest that I was the most careful girl in the sun).
And now I am fighting each and every single day of my life to save my life.
I am walking through the fire, of what is chemotherapy, to save my life.
If you want to know what strength is, try walking a mile in someones shoes who fights each and every day of their life for their life. Try waking up every single day feeling sick and knowing that you are fighting to be alive to see that day. Try injecting chemotherapy into your body, by yourself, three times a week while being a full-time student and working part-time.
That’s what strength is.
Some people don’t get to have children. Some people don’t live long enough to be blessed with a child. Some people don’t get to experience pregnancy even if it is one of the biggest desires of their hearts.
It is hard for me to hear people complain about being pregnant and about the inconvenience it is to create a human life. At least you have a life and have the opportunity to create another. That’s beautiful.
Chemotherapy is not.
And I hope that if God blesses me with a child one day, even if I felt awful, I will not complain about how awful I may feel for having such a beautiful and amazing thing impact my body.
Thanks for reading my thoughts,