Labels

 Patient.

Victim.

Survivor.

Warrior.

Veteran.




I have been struggling with labels. I have bandied about each of these words, tried them on and none of them quite fit. None of these words can describe how I feel about myself right now.


Patient

   In the strictest sense of the word, this is accurate. Yet, the word implies active treatment, taking drugs, seeing doctors. I have cancer, but I am not in active treatment against my cancer at the moment. This is called remission. I only check in with the doctor every 3 months. I need to live life away from the doctors and hospitals as much as possible.  Too restricting. 

Victim

  No one wants to be a victim.

Survivor.

    The most common term. Proponents of this word argue that every cancer patient is a survivor from the day of diagnosis. I am  alive; ergo I am a survivor. This seems simple enough. Too simple. When I hear someone described as a Survivor, I think of a single event that is now over and the danger has passed.  Like the sinking of the Titanic. Or a plane crash. Does this relate to cancer? Well, cancer is certainly a harrowing, life-threatening experience. The difference is that I can survive this initial onslaught and still die from cancer years later. I am alive, but the danger is never past. Too misleading.

Warrior.

    This implies that I am fighting for my life. Well, okay, I am hoping to live as long as possible. Here's the rub...I  cannot be healthy in the adrenaline-surged state of "fight". Fighting requires loads of energy and loads of cortisol coursing through your veins. Cancer loves this.  Plus, there's that subtle  innuendo that those who succumb to cancer were not fighting hard enough. Too distasteful.

Veteran

    I was in favor of this term for quite awhile. It showed that I had done battle and survived, but it was in my past. Veterans have been to hell and probably don't want to talk about it all the time. People seem to respect my physical status, but most likely question my mental status. The biggest drawback is that this term detracts from the true veterans, the military veterans. Too vague.

Thriver!

   I want to be called a Thriver. Someone who has peace and acceptance of the circumstance and has constructed a life that nurtures and heals the  body and soul. Someone who  understands the future may or may not involve cancer again, and accepts that either way. Someone who takes each day and spends it the best way possible for that day. Someone who understands that sometimes the best thing to do to nurture your body is to pull back and rest and sometimes the best thing to do to nurture your soul is to stretch your boundaries, or vice versa. Someone who recognizes in each day a little peace, a little love, a little joy.  Today I found peace in the creative process piecing a stained glass window together. I found love when my sister OC ladies rallied to support a grieving sister. I found joy when I managed a difficult balancing pose. These things made me stronger today. I thrived today. That's the word that fits me today.


 

Peace

     Another friend died today. Or maybe yesterday. I got the news today. (Oh boy.)

     I know a fantastic bunch of women that I have never met. We came together because of our common denominator, ovarian cancer. We share our lives with each other in cyber space, in the cloud. We talk about our similarities in diagnosis and treatment and side effects and other cancer stuff. We also talk about our families and travels and hobbies and triumphs. We can discuss harrowing topics that normal people shirk. We can rejoice in the simplest things that normal people take for granted.

     Because of the reason for our connection, and maybe because of the intimate nature of our connection, we can never really escape the slow, deep, dark, undercurrent of the reality of our futures. We see it happen to our friends. We know the statistics. We know that less than half of us have a chance to survive for 5 years after diagnosis. We choose to ignore those effing statistics. Who wants to go around knowing that half of your friends will die within 5 years? No one. That's why we ignore those effing statistics. Don't get me wrong, we know the numbers, we just choose to live life in spite of those numbers.

   But those numbers catch us anyway. My friend was caught. I cried. Then I cursed. I cried again. I left the house. Searching for I know not. I ended up at the labyrinth garden and paced the path. Then I barged ahead toward my favorite spot at the outlook. I heard boisterous voices ahead. I turned and stomped down the path in the opposite direction. There it was. A spectacular affirmation of life. A falcon in the bare treetop just over my head. She perched on the branch, turned her head to look at me, then turned her whole body with a heavy hop to face me. She turned her head to each side, stretching her neck into the sky. She eyed me for awhile and let me walk closer. She posed for me while I snapped several pics on my phone. Then she spread her wings in a whoompf and took flight over my head. I craned to watch and her wings seemed to span an easy 6 feet. I could see the detail of the little feathers under her wings. She seemed close enough to touch in that weird way your eyes play tricks on you. Wow!!

    I inhaled with a gasp and a smile. I was filled with joy. I thanked her, yelling after her as if she would answer me. It was then I knew my friend had peace. And that gave me peace too.