After my fourth round of chemotherapy, I went into what I now refer to as "The Funk Zone." What helped me the most was my ability to put on my nurse's cap (being a nurse was definitely a Silver Lining during my treatment) and assign myself some healthy coping mechanisms.
That phrase broke through the heavy curtain of my grief. Don't go to the funeral today. It even let a little sunshine in. He was right. Unlike a sudden death, we have more time to live together. We have each day.
"I discussed your desire to swim the Channel with the doctors on the tumor review board, and I'm sorry, but no one believes that you will be able to do it. The fatigue from the chemo will be too great." I looked at my husband and thought they don't know me.
Twenty-seven years have passed, and I'm still enjoying the miracle of being alive every day. I contribute it to a healthier lifestyle and organizing my priorities in life. I learned that accumulating possessions at our health expense are only useless.
If the logistics of preparing for chemo weren't enough, you also have to deal with other people. There's a strange indigenous dance people do... it's a frown-face-hug dance. Have you heard Gangnam style? Do those dances instead.
Why am I telling this story for what feels like the 100th time? Because I think it is important to recognize that I am just like you. I am not a hero. I am not particularly brave. If I could get through what I got through, then anyone can get through anything.
What one may not so easily anticipate as cancer is the proverbial axe falling on a loved one instead, while you stand helplessly by wishing it could be you, but knowing full well that you do not get to make that choice.