Muses from Mile 22

This was written as a musing about when my anger finally caught up to me during treatment. I had spent 8 months not feeling anger after my diagnosis, and all of a sudden, it backhanded me.

Journal Entry on November 13, 2022

I have put off an update for a while. I have put it off because of all the anger that has built up. I was ready to call people out and name names. The thing that I didn't know as I stepped into fighting for my life is it has caused me to re-examine my whole life. Memories from the beginning of my diagnosis have come back as have memories from 20 to 30 years have surfaced. Things back from 6th grade have resurfaced, such as the group of friends that turned on me, but things as recent as a handful of people who said they would be here and they haven't even stepped into my world of mayhem as I go through the hardest thing of my life. Thoughts of relationships that I have to meet their needs, but screw mine as I literally didn't know if I was going to die. I have reminisced about when I was a kid, how a handful of adults would hold me to an unfair standard and judge me, a child, due to their religion. And I say this, and if they ever read this, they won't have a clue it is about them due to the high pedestal they sit upon.

I am angry my life was almost cut short. My daughter was almost without a mother. And there are people that would still say they are my friends and they haven't even sent one text to check in on me, my partner, not my child. I thought I healed all this. I thought I put all this to rest. And though, I have found my purpose, and I have such clarity, I have remembered who and what has held me back--even moments when I held myself back. I remember who played mind games with me. And yes, I am well aware the people that have caused me pain have to live with that, not me, right now, it hurts over and over again for some reason.

I am exhausted from being told, "Be patient". I am exhausted from being told, "You're almost there". I know. I am standing here looking at the light at the end of the tunnel, but it feels like I can't get myself there. Aren't I there yet? I just want control of my own life now.

I am even angry that I fought for my life and I am stuck with the same Senator who doesn't care if I have bodily autonomy, the same guy who is basically one good scare away from a heart attack, the same guy who has never cared if our state progresses. He dismisses the youth that doesn't fit his ideals. I didn't fight to live for me, my daughter and the other women in this state to continue to be held back in the name of a religion I don't even subscribe to.

In the marathon world, Mile 22 is when you hit a wall. It's when you just don't think you can take one more step. It's when your feet turn into bricks and your hips and glutes burn and ache. It's when you need the most from the crowd, even perfect strangers. You know the people that love you the most, the ones that may not even understand why you chose to do this, but they are there at the finish line. It's those people who will still hug you even when you are covered in dried sweat that's turned into salt. It's those people who ring cowbells loudly and hold signs. Some of those people even run the whole damn thing with you. Zero in on those people. And, hell, zero in on the encouragement the strangers in the crowd are offering. You need it all to get through the next 4.2 miles.

At Mile 22 you have to think back at who you were at the start line. You have to dig so deep and remember what you worked for, what you trained for, and know if you quit now how gutted you will feel if you stop now. The moment you see that finish line, everything is a blur, and sometimes you feel your chin quiver and tears well in your eyes.

Today I have cried about eight times out of frustration and the deepest desire to be done. Today I cried because I know when I am done with all this, I will spend the rest of my life riddled with anxiety of the question, will this will come back? If it does, will I even have the privilege or stamina to fight it?

Today I MADE myself get outside and run. I blasted music and let myself feel all the pain and all the anger and teared up again. By the last mile, over the music, I could hear my breath going in and out. I remembered my 4th chemo, the moment my breathing became difficult and I was having chest pains. My Nurse Navigator somehow summoned a pack of amazing nurses to teleport to my side with a small crash cart at their side. I avoided a heart attack or stroke that day. Today, I found myself ready to punch someone out at the beginning of my run and progressed to feel grateful for every breath I was taking.

Healing is cyclical and sometimes it is not pretty. This last week hasn't been pretty. I can usually get my mindset straightened to not allowing others' actions to determine my feelings and choices, but I am not a machine. Humans are complex, and we are sometimes fragile. I am no different. And I feel a little broken at the moment. I will be okay. I know I have everything I need in myself, and tightly wrapped around me. Active treatment is getting long, and emotionally it is getting to me.

Last week I began my radiation portion. I have a total of 25 radiation therapy sessions and I knocked 3 out last week. I report to the hospital every morning to lie on a table. I really trust my radiation oncologist and the staff I have met thus far while I am laying on the table. I feel cared for. And I know when I ring that bell, I will be surrounded by those who love me the most.

My fight is not done, on some level, it is always an unfinished fight because I will always wrestle with cancer and the fear it brings with itself. I will probably have countless angry runs ahead of me, and plenty of tears to release. But, I am grateful for them, and I am a little wiser after each one.