Holding on to Hope

You're about to go away for the weekend. You've packed all your bags, made sure the house was taken care of, let your friends and family know and even went shopping to prepare. You've waited months for this day, (maybe even almost two years...) and because of the excitement, you asked others to join. But, you forgot to check the weather. The weather! You are in Nova Scotia after all, where the weather changes every 5 minutes. Should have known...another storm coming through, just like the one that unexpectantly came about six months ago, again holding you back.

Lets switch gears back to first person. I dont have another metaphorical way to relate others to how I feel. The "trip" was my upcoming (next day) final chemo round. I have made it through five rounds and was on the verge of my sixth and hopefully last. Then came supreme disappointment. An anti-climatic array of emotion. Anger. Fear. Disbelief. Perhaps this is all how it is meant to be...I'm told there are no cells to fight an infection - it's too dangerous to give me another blast.

My bone marrow is supremely suppressed. I'm so close. Maybe I sound dramatic, I don't know. But, feelings are feelings and my experience is my own. I am completely cognizant and sensitive to the fact there are others facing tough treatments and journeys of their own and of course respect theirs.

Knowing that waiting to start chemo again was the safest and most rational decision, has softened this latest setback. I don't need to take a risk right now, nor does my healthcare team. Be patient, Tanya. Anyone who knows me is well aware that this word "patience" is not an attribute high on my list of strengths (though I'm getting a lot of practise this year!)

I come home after my appointment, realize there are no groceries (I was supposed to "go away on a trip" for the weekend, right? Chemo is an abrupt end to any appetite, so I don't bother filling the fridge at all and instead wait to see how each round goes). I try to imagine how easy it must be for others around me to continue with their lives, go to work, stress about deadlines or patients (now I'm one of the patients), find food for dinner, get some exercise, go to bed. Repeat. Have the capability to make future plans. Now that is a liberty and something I really miss being able to do.

I used to have one of those seemingly simplified lives, that was actually constantly complex when I was living in it. I don't say the word simplified lightly because everyone has their own relative challenges and segmental disappointments. To merely carry on right now is my greatest struggle and some days I really don't know if its going to get any easier. But, I have to hope and believe it will.

I wake up the next day and sit to write at my computer to decompress. My phone rings, a concerned tone from a familiar, loved voice speaks to me. Something is wrong. What else is wrong? I lost my friend, unexpectantly. He died after an 8 month fight with lymphoma. He had sat beside me, with me and faced all that I faced - and more.

We had one of those friendships united by cancer and I think that's beautiful in itself. I could reach out to him and he just "got it." I have to say I lost a bit of hope in my own journey upon hearing that news. As fear and loss culminate, it sure can instill a sense of despair. But, not every journey is the same and every illness, in each body, has its own characteristics. I am quick to hold back on to hope, to the promise it will get better and to optimism. That is who I am.

I use the word grateful alot, but I've got a lot to be grateful for. We all want to live, which I think is supremely different from being alive. Feeling these energetic and fierce emotions tell me I'm connected, alive and I'm embracing what's continually testing my spirit. Today and everyday, I'm holding up, to varying degrees and simultaneously holding on.