15 Year Diagnosis Day

 

Fifteen years. Can you believe it? I definitely can't. 

So much has happened, so much has changed. What if I never had a brain tumor? Instead, it was a baby. I used to refer to Herman as my tumor baby because he has taken so much of my time and effort; I lost my identity and gained a new one, much like a mother. 

Fifteen years is such a long time to navigate a cancer that never goes away. I've never lived without a tumor, not since we found him. It's exhausting, and rewarding all at the same time.

When you get a life-altering diagnosis like this, never knowing how each day will progress, it's impossible to plan. It's scary and hard to live a full life, well, at least it has been for me. I've tried to reframe things along the way, always working to create a positive spin when I get afraid or sad, or lose another friend or get bad news about my health. It became a muscle for me, and it's been one of the most beautiful things I've been able to cultivate. It's something that I'm grateful for every day. 

Fifteen years. I wish I could celebrate with Udzi and Leor. I wish I could celebrate with Crush. I wish I could celebrate with Jessica. I wish I could celebrate with Marly. It feels like a momentous birthday, but no one is showing up to the party. 

Fifteen years. I should feel better than this. I shouldn't be crying sad tears. 

Living with cancer creates all the flavors of grief. They hit throughout each day, coming in waves. Some smell like freshly baked bread, or warm cookies, others hit like a hot, humid day with week-old trash. Pungent. Invoking an impossible desire to vomit. 

Fifteen years creates trillions of feelings, reflecting is hitting all at once. 

Thank you for following me along this journey. For being here in this moment in time few thought I would see. 

First Quarter Complete: 4.0 GPA

 

    

Have I mentioned I love to learn? Of course I have. I'm a happy little nerd who can find interest in all things. You know this. It invigorates my soul, and it keeps me busy. 

The difference, these days, is that I am learning for a specific purpose. I am finally using my energy toward earning a degree to officially use my experience and knowledge in oncology. 

I carry the souls I've lost. They walk with me, hold my heart, and I lean on them when I have difficulty believing in myself. I picture their faces. I cry sometimes because I wish I could live this life with them, but I know their lights exist somewhere and they're never far away. It's still sad though. The grief never leaves me. It shifts, it looks different depending on the day, but it's always there.

I absolutely did not believe I was capable of grad school. I struggle with words immensely; I can't get my brain and mouth to work together to pronounce the words I see on a screen or on a page. It's frustrating as hell. And the fatigue is real. Yet I freaking LOVE it. I haven't been this cognitively challenged in years. Yes, I have been researching brain tumor content for almost 15 years, I've learned and relearned, but this is a firehose of information, and it's not on my timeline. The pressure, the rush of the focus, the exhaustion, the joy of every second of this process, it's beautiful!

The tricks I've learned navigating grad school are wild. I use two computers at once, one for the digital textbook and the other for the paper I am inevitably writing, not to mention the mess of tabs I flit back and forth to. Then, I use my phone to dictate a word, trying to spell or verify a definition. Half the time, I find that I've created a word, usually a Frankenstein of letters, that has no intelligible meaning. I often find myself starting my day at 7:00 am, barely taking breaks until I look up, and it is 9:00 pm, and I have forgotten to eat anything or move my body. But learning is so fun! The content, the wonder, the awe, I slurp it up.

As I head into this next quarter, or whatever section of school this is, I'm excited, nervous, curious, and I'm all in.

This is the gift I give myself.