"Hope is the thing with feathers"

 What is strength? 

What is weakness? 

What is pain? 

What is fear? 

Where do these words fit inside me? 

In the past 2 years that I’ve been sick I lost so much hope. Endured so much disappointment when all the things I tried to do to help myself get better inevitably didn’t work. I lost so much life. So much of myself I felt shrivel up and wither away into nothing. I was afraid of being judged for unconventional ideas of how to heal and get better so I was hesitant to tell anyone I was dealing with anything, much less that I had cancer. 

I was so angry and restless. Stuck in a body I didn’t understand what was happening to. Bouncing from feeling betrayed by my body to feeling as though I had failed my body and not done enough to try and help it, to keep this from happening. I had little grace and no compassion for myself as I was going through this process. I was stubborn. Unmoving at times. But still part of me flowed. Something kept me going. 

What is hope?

What gives us hope to wish for things not yet seen?

My body laid unmoving in a hospital bed in the ICU for 2 weeks. My physical body has never become so weak as it did while I was there. I couldn’t stand on my own. I couldn’t sit up on my own. Even lifting a hand to my face took so much effort. I was so weak I couldn’t move my legs under my blanket. I had to rely completely on someone else to help me make any sort of movement beyond my bed. 

But

I could breathe. 

The weight of the 8 liters of fluid they drained from my lungs now gone. The feeding tube finally removed. I could breathe again after months of drowning in hopelessness.

I learned I had to trust my nurses to help me with everything. And after the clumsiness of one nurse who let me fall while helping me get to the bathroom, I learned better how to speak up for myself and how I wanted to be treated. How I needed to start treating myself. 

I didn’t originally want to go through chemo as treatment. But the few weeks leading up to when I went to the emergency room I knew my body needed more help than I was currently able to give it. Even though going in, I didn’t imagine all the things that happened over the next weeks was what was going to happen. But after the fact I am grateful they all did. 

Going to the hospital, getting this treatment… It gave me hope. Hope and peace and understanding that I had been searching for for 2 years. This feels like the end of a hard long road, not the beginning of long hard months at the oncology office. The end of all the questions, of never having real answers. Of being afraid and confused and empty of life. Of hope. 

Life really is what you make it I’ve realized. Given this new found hope I’ve gained back weight I’ve been losing for 2 years, found my appetite not only for food again, but for life. Not only the ability to dream again, but the desire to. The strength to look at what my life had become and decide what I wanted to change about it. What just needed to be refreshed and what had to go completely. 

I've been holding my breath since I got home from the hospital. Waiting I guess. To see if this is actually real. If I can actually trust that I'm better this time. That I can truly dream and live my life the way I've wanted to for the past 2 years. 

I've been holding my breathe, waiting. Marking every milestone and trying not to care too much in case I fall apart. 

But still I keep pushing. 

Walking without the walker, 

Returning to my garden around the side of the house after long months of staying inside, 

Driving my car for the first time in over a year. 

I didn't fall without the walker. And my plants were still there. Seeds growing that I planted years ago coming up and blooming again. 

I didn't even forget how to drive or the rules of traffic that I was so nervous I had forgotten. 

I'm still here. And I'm so close to the end of this long hard journey. I feel that I've been fighting the long defeat. But I'm okay and I can breathe again. There is no other shoe to drop. 

I realized today that I've been holding onto pent up tension. Fear that this was too good to be real. The relief that I'm almost done with doctors appointments and chemo treatments and that I can truly step into this new part of my life brought waves of tears and deep breaths to me. 

I faced many fears in the hospital.

 Experienced physical pain like I never have before. 

I found my strength and resilience In that hospital. 

I remembered what it felt like to hope.

 I'm okay. I'm still here.

 And I'm not going anywhere.