It’s been one year, since I received a stage four lung cancer diagnosis and left my Oncologist office with a bottle of pills, all the hair on my head and no scars on my chest.

In looking back, there were several things that happened that day, that I didn’t realize were simultaneously happening while I received the best worst news: (coles notes: “you have stage four lung cancer and could die, but a genetic mutation to your cancer cells will allow for the palliative treatment of your cancer by way of oral medication that will extend your life”).

I quickly cut the chord to my heart

Part of me needed to shut almost everyone and everything out.  I put my heart on ice so I could move into this unchartered territory.  It was too much to digest, and there was so much to process and deal with, especially with all of the sweeping changes to come

I shed my skin

Well it wasn’t me per say.  The Oncologist inadvertently sliced me open, so I had no choice but to  peel it off, and leave it on the floor of the Cross.  That’s what it felt like, walking out of that Oncologist office without my skin on. I felt so highly exposed and vulnerable, saved but so compromised.

I stopped trusting myself

I must have made a lot of  wrong turns to end up in that Oncologist’s office on June 27, 2024. On that day, I stopped listening to my body, made my gut shut the fak up and erected by Oncologist’s picture by our bedside (no not actually). 

Unfortunately despite his pizazz delivering my best worst news that day, I found my Oncologist flippant about all of the side effects and symptoms I reported to him every month thereafter; and because he minimized what I was experiencing, I maximized it.  Not intentionally, but between not trusting myself, being scared shitless and feeling super vulnerable; EVERYTHING felt ultra sensitive; the dull winter sun caused sunburn, I feared drowning in shallow water, I constantly questioned if I was driving on the right side of the road…the  cancer diagnosis along with this foreign medication I was adding into my body on the daily caused paralysis…like I’m talking, whole life, everything turned upside down paralysis.  On June 27, 2024 I was hit by a landslide and by fall, I was underneath 15 ft of rocks and dirt. Every month things got worse and worse as far as side effects, my body and my capacity…but I kept clawing, kept trying – kept searching for that magical formula between diet/exercise/Church/meditation/sleep/compression/therapy/additional meds/allowable vitamins to make me feel like me again

And then my Dad died.

But I hadn’t even really started rebuilding my life, so it was fine to mourn him amongst the rubble.

And then I returned to work and started to really reintegrate my new self back into my old world.

At first it felt clunky and I felt awkward, but the more and more time went on, the easier it started to become again.

The thumbprint we put over our lives is fantastically unique and that muscle memory runs deep, thank God, because just this past month, twelve months after that best terrible day, I’ve found a stride.

I feel like I’m floating to the surface and parts of me are starting to breakthrough the water and appear again. No magic formula, just consistent pursuit and inclusion of all the things that work for me + life + my willingness to live it  + an amazing support system – giving up = magic formula.

I’m starting to feel like me again.

And it’s the same me, but different…in some ways dare I say, remarkably better?

This is a me without any vices or too many attachments.  This is a me that has battled and has come out feeling so differently about the things I use to find so interesting and important.  I don’t feel even an ounce of space for someone else’s inauthenticity or bad energy, if it rubs me the wrong way, then I’m not sticking around to figure out why. I realize that my nervous system intuitively tells me what spaces are mine to be in.  It’s so interesting because after my diagnosis and into my reintegration back to life outside of the bubble Jason and I had cocooned in, I felt an unease with sharing my story to absolutely EVERYONE I reconnected with.  Like the whole heartfelt “how are you doing” question made me instantly sweaty, anxious and wildy overwhelmed…but over time, the ease started to come back, more so with people who feel safe and good to me.  But in those places that don’t feel good, I’m getting better at practicing boundaries, standing back and creating the space around me that I need.  I feel intentional and so much more awake.

This is also a me without parents, and I hate being here without my parents and Teddy.  But I also hope/”fully” believe that the three of them are together, joyfully together.  And because I can imagine them joyfully living “up there” together, it makes me believe that they would want the same for me here.  And believing that makes me want it too.  To live joyfully in ease, and freedom, love and kindness ❤

So I guess this isn’t really a one year cancer survival testimony – it’s more of a me revival testimony, taking my heart off of ice, and reconnecting the chords again (still with no scars on my chest to boot!) Thank God!