I Am No Super Human Void of Pain and Suffering

The last few days have been hard. I’ve been swept away by a lot of heavy feelings of grief as the reality of the next few months sets in.

Although I’m grateful I’ve had more energy the last week and the bone pain is gone, the fatigue I feel is something hard to explain. It’s deep in the layers of my skin, down to the bone. It’s hard to get a good flow doing much of anything and right now, my workdays look a bit like scattered dust blowing in the wind.

My hair is starting to fall out too. I’m lucky I have a lot of it but every time I get out of the shower and run a comb through it I’m met with having to say goodbye to a good handful of my identity.

Oh the weight gain and muscle loss. I’ve always been very active. I’ve climbed the tallest mountain in the lower 48 and finished 3rd in my age group in triathlons. Now I can barely recognize my body in the mirror and get winded walking up the stairs. It’s a hard adjustment. To look in the mirror and see a stranger at times.

I’m angry and sad. I find myself kicking and screaming inside that my life has to be paused in such an extreme way once again.

I was just getting back on track from my last cancer (6 years later) and from my hysterectomy two and a half years ago. I was finally able to grow my hair long. I found a way to move my body and was seeing older versions of her here and there. She was coming back alive.

I don’t go to this place often anymore because despite all of it, I’ve learned to find a lot of joy in the life that I now have.

But these feelings, This grief, it’s important too. And I’ll let it wash through me. And I’ll honor its purpose.

Because I’m human.

And cancer treatment is traumatic.

All of this is traumatic.

And I am no super human void of pain and suffering.

I am, grieving.

This Too Shall Pass

On Friday, January 13th, I began a journey I would never wish on anyone. I had my first infusion of chemotherapy and immunotherapy. This week, to put it bluntly, I’ve been a little worse for wear.

It’s funny, I had these grand delusions that I would be back up and working in just a few days. I can do this I thought. I’ve been to hell and back before and I always bounce back quickly. I will with this too.

This beast however, is one I have yet to experience before. This beast, has annihilated me, leaving me question so much already.

I’ve been dealing with neuropathy that is so painful I don’t quite have the words to describe it other than feeling as if my nerves are being ripped apart by electrical shocks and waves every few seconds. This began Sunday evening and has yet to leave. And that alone is terrifying. To think of a life riddled with this kind of pain.

I hear the second week is better though and the third well, I welcome that with open arms as it teases me with thoughts of being “almost normal” again. Yet, I know when I finally make it to week three the clock starts ticking again until I’m sitting in that same chair, in that same cancer center, getting those same drugs pumped throughout my body. Round two.

And the cycle begins all over again.

I’m doing my best to hold on to little moments of joy, although few and far between, and my mantra, although hard to fully believe, this too shall pass.

This too shall pass.

And I pray that it does and that this time next year I’m pain (and cancer) free.

I hope the rumors are true though and next week I’ll feel better and the following more like myself and I can get back to work in whatever way that may look like for the foreseeable future. I miss my craft. I miss creating and putting my thoughts into action. I miss the chatter of a podcast playing in the background while I get lost in my shop.

I think one of the most uncomfortable parts of all this is the not knowing. Not knowing when life will feel normal again. Not knowing if or when I can work again. Not knowing if this pain will subside enough for me to do the things I love dearly. The things that make me who I am.

All I can do is the very thing I’ve been trying to figure out how to do my whole life. Surrender.

Surrender, surrender, surrender.

And wait.

And just be.

And that, my friends, is an art in and of itself and I haven’t really learned that medium yet. But like with all my other artistic paths, practice makes me better and better. So, I’ll practice this too.

And eventually, this too shall pass.

xo, amanda

P.S. - Ongoing help is probably going to be vital until I figure out my new flow with work. I’m so grateful to you and to all who have supported me in the various ways laid out in my Cancer Gift Registry. It’s truly lifted me up and made me feel so loved.

You can find that registry here.