I just finished reading devouring The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. (You know, that young adult novel-soon-to-be-released-movie about a 16 yr old girl with terminal cancer who falls in love with a 17 yr old boy with a history of cancer...). Clearly I was playing some kind of sick joke on myself thinking I would be able to handle that. But I couldn't put it down. I had to finish reading it at home because it was embarrassing how many public tears where secretly (aka not so secretly) shed.
It has been such a long time. A whole two crazy, full years. Not that anyone (but me) is keeping track or anything, but I have a routine follow-up with CT next week. And I'm not scared, but I really, really hate that place. Plus, I have a lot of free time with my school schedule right now and it is giving me way, way too much time on my hands to think about things. I am strong, but there is nothing to feel but small and terrified sitting in that waiting room alone. Powerless. But enough about me.
Basically, I just had to tell someone (aka everyone) about this book which so perfectly describes cancer and young love and bad luck and all that is unfair. About how desperation makes you notice, makes you feel, more. About how this author nailed everything so perfectly on the head. It's all there. Like I had vomited the words onto the page myself (and a professional made them much prettier.) How it felt to be stared at because you looked sick, how it felt to talk to someone who truly understood and how no one else can help you (unless they knew what it was like.) Like there is some kind of weird cancer-kid-code-language and it is the only means to process your emotions. I wish I still had that. Someone to cry to, yell to, be terrified to, someone to get it. Someone to tell me what my next steps are. What is normal. What is normal, though, really?
Even how I feel bad because I am "in remission." Like I'm not worthy of calling myself a "cancer kid" anymore. How even "cancer survivor" sounds pretentious. I read somewhere that when people find positive meaning out of their horrible disease it is called "post-traumatic growth." And I think that's what this is called. This trying to give life perspective and make use of all this awful I went through. But sometimes even that feels misguided and full of guilt- and I think it is disgusting that I think that, so many many people have it way, way worse. And that's all there, too, tied up in this pretty little package of a book.
The point is that every one of you should read (or just go see the movie) this devastating book. Especially all of my soon-to-be-real-doctor friends. And maybe it won't mean anything to you, but maybe it will make you think about death and dying and how we choose (do we choose though??) to live and die. How it feels when someone tells me "you are soooo strong and brave" and how it makes me feel numb- even though I know it is all they have to offer. How people are not their disease but rather a "side effect" of it (credit- John Green). Everything that happens is a product of the terrible thing. But we just have to accept it and do our best to crawl out of it's shadow, even in remission, but it will always be there. It changes you in ways no one will understand. Not even me.
But this book put it so so so perfectly. And it is short and written for teenagers so it's an easy read. Chock full of the teenage angst we all once felt and loved/hated so much, sprinkled with insight so hauntingly relevant. Read it. (Just make sure you are alone when you get towards the middle/end, just sayin...)
I haven't posted in a very long time. Not because I had nothing to say. (Because I always have something to say.) But, more that I had nothing to say about cancer.... and well I kind of forgot about this cancer-bashing-life-lesson-sharing forum that was always there for me when I was sick, and long after I was better.
But today, I have news.
What most of you don't know (myself included) is that cancer literally never goes away. Sure, the cells die and you are "cured"... but when someone hands you that diagnosis, you are basically signing a secret pact to keep the oncologists and radiologists in business for. a. long. time. It is years of follow ups and holding your breath for results. It is hypocondriasis at its finest. Obsessively mistaking every ache and bump in your body for relapse. It is a lump in your throat for a week waiting on PET scan results.
What else can I say about that feeling? That horrible, ominous, sinking feeling when I am sitting in the West Clinic waiting room. It is quite possibly the worst emptiness. A mixture of dread, neediness, and guilt. Emotions not normally found side by side. Emotions that mix like oil and water in my mind. I am teetering on the edge of "normalcy" (whatever that is), with my shoulder length hair, rosy cheeks, and ten pound weight gain. Uncomfortably shifting in my seat, knowing that my status could change at any moment. Pretending not to notice all the scarves and skinny, skinny people in the room.
In a sense, I belong nowhere. Not to either world. Although I prefer this terrifying limbo to the hell it was before, especially granted the glances I am afforded into "healthy" between the appointments and scans I trek to every four months. I forget all about it, just like I forgot about this blog. Funny how life works like that. It is promising though, since it promises a time ten years from now when it will all just be a story. One line squeezed somewhere in between medical school and residency. A passing trivia.
And now... the news. I did have a PET scan last Wednesday. And I did get the results back three days ago. And they are just now REALLY starting to sink it. And I want to scream to everyone (who I haven't already told) what the scans so wonderfully showed: NO EVIDENCE OF DISEASE.
No. Evidence. Of. Disease.
When I told my mom, she instantly burst into tears. A relief so wonderful it was too much to hold inside. And I'll admit, it wasn't until I heard those tears that I had even given those results a second thought. I had not REALLY thought about what it all meant: that the cancer continues to be beaten down. GONE. Something I prayed for everyday of chemotherapy. Something I still pray for when those fears creep back in. Something I could not be more blessed to hear. Something I will not take for granted.
The most wonderful words ever to be spoken to a cancer patient.
And so, for the next four months I will live in the land of "healthy"... until I have to go back for another look inside. Until I have to sit in that waiting room again, terrified, a couple more inches on my hair and a couple more months between freedom and smothering. Looking for one more happy phrase to add to my collection, until eventually, as the time between appointments continually widens, I am finally done.
Liv
I'm scared but I'm not coming down
And I won't run for my life
She's got her jaws just locked now in smile
But nothing is all right
All right
I want something else
To get me through this life
I want something else
I'm not listening when you say
Good-bye
This weekend I was fortunate to be able to fly up to Rhode Island to visit my maternal grandmother (Memere, pronounced Mem-ay) and (most of) the rest of that side of my family. It was wonderful. All of it. And while I was sitting there in mass on Sunday morning, the priest said something that really stuck with me in his homily...and maybe it's because I was sitting next to Memere or maybe because I was being nostalgic for that Woonsocket church where my parents were married or maybe because I knew I was leaving all of it in five hours time. But regardless it took all my strength to not be total waterworks for the rest of mass.
"Thy will be done"
It was a homily based on the Lord's Prayer. A prayer we spout off without even thinking most of the time. A prayer for mercy, that I clung to when I was sick, that I honestly don't think much about otherwise. Back then I clung to the "give us this day... And deliver us from evil" parts. The needy sick parts. The "give me" and "save me" parts. But this preist made us think about the other not-so-fun parts. "Thy will be done." It's not everything happens for a reason. It's just going to happen. Blink, and it's already done.
It sounds almost non-religious when you think of it in that sense. And I guess you could think of it either way. It all, just, happens. By divine intervention or not, life goes on. People get sick. People get stranded. People make decisions. People love you or don't love you. Someone loses their job. Someone else get's their dream job at age 65. Children are abandoned or cherished. People die.
But it does help when you think of some higher power controlling it all, I suppose. Because otherwise, it makes your whole life seem pretty pointless, right? What would I want with a God who planted that damn brain tumor or let my sweet Grandpa die before his time? It is impossible not to question where is the mercy, the justice? Thinking that God's will may be outside of our own interests or understanding is a bitter pill to swallow. It's a lump in our throat. It leaves us with more questions than answers. And that is just plain uncomfortable.
No matter what we may want, things are just going to keep happening. It is mostly out of our control. But in a broader sense, in the presence or absence of a higher power (though I prefer the former), we do have some control. Maybe not of the broad strokes that form the backdrop of our lives. But of the smaller details. Of extra hugs and kisses and smiles. Of acts of kindness and charity. Of how we invest our time. It is not that we can stop the flood or keep that tumor at bay, but it is in how we choose to navigate our lives against that backdrop of this constantly changing scenery. We must accept that "thy will be done"(or in the very least that we are powerless to nature's course) or we will be stuck, minds milling in frustration and sadness, for the rest of our lives.
I cried and cried when I left my grandmother and the rest of my family to take that plane back to Knoxville later that Sunday. I am 25 years old and I was a mess. All I kept thinking was how every time you see someone, you never know if it is the last time you'll hear their voice or smell their hair. Even if that person is someone you see every day, but more importantly if it is not. It makes me want to hug Memere and never let go. It makes me wish I could teleport places and that I didn't have so much ambition keeping me away from the people I love all the time.
But "thy will be done" somehow brought me some semblance of solace yesterday. I was able to leave knowing that no matter where I am or what I do... the bad and the good... it's all going to keep on happening whether I am there or not. My only job being to cherish the moments that are under my control. Love big and live well. Navigate all of this inevitable change with (clumsy) grace. Take time to listen to that voice and remember the smell of that hair. The sound of a rousing game of Parcheesi (and those dang triple sixes). The taste of Dinamites and that sly smile when Dean Martin is on. That four year cousin old playing the ukulele while I dance with Uncle Jim and that sweet grandmother taking it all in. I will cherish it all. And I will do all I can to see the beauty in those broad strokes He paints, even if the picture is yet unfinished.
So my sister is dating this guy who loooooves to rock climb. (Indoors, outdoors, bouldering, with a harness/rope, all of it...) And so when I came back to Knoxville for the summer for these two rotations, she was all about getting me to try it. Even though I am terrified of heights and have developed the wimpy-est arms in lieu of not sticking to my yoga routine. Even though I had "like no time"cause I was always working, and when I wasn't working, sleeping. Even though I thought I'd look like a big ol' dork. Even though sometimes competitive sports type activities with my sister can be an awful idea.
Even though all of those things and more, I tried it. And I was hooked.
Not instantly, mind you, but gradually over time as I could feel myself getting stronger and less scared. Man, that time I made it to the top of that first V0 (the easiest bouldering course) I was so proud of myself. And then when I made it to the top of a couple more, I smiled even bigger.
Now, these are super super beginner level climbs, but it doesn't matter because rock climbing is just one big competition with yourself. Not that I don't "ohh" and "ahh" at those baller girls my age (and older) with the incredible back muscles and calves who can dominate anything they put their mind to... 'cause I do. But I have to admit, when you've been trying to get that V1 for the past week and you FINALLY get it, you feel pretty baller yourself. Like a pro. High-fives all around and then on to the next one.
Sometimes though, it is easy to get discouraged. Like yesterday Kamry and I, being the beginners of the group, harnessed up and climbed the big, tall wall. (At least I don't pee my pants any more thinking about going that high!) And let me just tell you, I didn't think it was possible to get bilateral forearm cramps, but now I know better. And after we were done Kamry had some wise words.. she said "Olivia, when I get stuck and think I can't possibly reach the next hold or push off that leg or climb anyyyy higher, I just tell myself to 'stop being a little b**ch'." Slightly vulgar, I suppose, but it gets the job done just fine.
And we hear those little clichés all the time, don't we? The "suck it ups" and "just do its." The "when the going gets toughs" and all of the rest of them. Sometimes it just hurts and you just CAN'T. Except that you can...
You always can.
It's thinking like this that gets me through any rough day or troubling night. And keeps me pushing forward. Even if it's just the super super beginner level, I always smile every time I push through and reach the top. Every time I stand up on my leg one more time to reach that next rock. Every time I don't quit. It's not a race with everyone else, but a competition with myself to keep trying and trying and trying...
Life is just one long, tiring, but beautiful, climb.
And I'm going to stop that metaphor right there, 'cause that could get really cheesy, really quickly. (And I think it already did.) But y'all get the point. Don't be a little you-know-what. You have to tell yourself to "man up" and just keep going. Not because anyone else tells you not to or because they are cheering you on, but because it's THE ONLY WAY. Even though you may think of soooo many reasons why you can't. Even though you may be tired as all heck. Even though you feel self-conscious. even though you might fail. Even though all of that.
The only way is UP.
Liv
I've got my ticket for the long way 'round The one with the prettiest of views It's got mountains, it's got rivers It's got sights to give you shivers But it sure would be prettier with you
When I'm gone, when I'm gone You're gonna miss me when I'm gone You're gonna miss me by my walk You're gonna miss me by my talk, oh You're gonna miss me when I'm gone
And once again the slate is wiped clean. I am done with surgery and walking in the shoes of a pediatrician for the next two months. It's all new. No one knows me, expects me to do great things, act like I am here to learn. It is earning that respect by working my butt off all over again, and it will be for the rest of my life, I guess.
It will be for the rest of my (academic) career at least.
The life of a medical student and resident is literally that of constant change. Just when you learn how one attending likes his notes written and presented. boom. you switch. Try not to get to comfortable because the rug is about to be pulled out from underneath you once again. (Dang, and I had just really learned how to use the staple gun properly, too....)
I think that is something so special and unique about medicine. Everyone is constantly learning, evolving. New drugs come out, new protocols, even new diseases. You've got to be able to think on your toes and adapt. You can never get lazy and complacent because that could be someone's life, or at least their comfort, that you hold in your hands.
I both kind of love and it absolutely hate it. Because really it's only a rare moment here and now when you actually feel like you know what the heck is going on and you are doing something 100% correct (without having to ask a nurse...or a patient, in my case, to help you operate a child's crib.) Most of the time we are on the receiving end of "are you lost?" comments and I'm sure even more sideways glares from people who actually DO know what they are doing, because they have done it every day of their adult lives (just try and remember that sometimes, please?)
But today at least, and more importantly, I was on the receiving end of a toddler's smile. And while I may have tried my hardest on that discharge note only to fail miserably at guessing which antibiotic to send that baby home on (in the end, it turn's out, none), I didn't have to try and see the wonder in all that was happening around me. I mean, sick, but smiling kids, pretty much make the world seem all okay. If they can do it, I can handle a little change now and then. (Because, really I've done it before, and I think we've established that I did mostly okay.)
Nobody said it was going to be easy. (Really they just said to run while I had the chance.) But I could not imagine myself anywhere else but in this crazy whirlwind I am about to call life for the next 5-7 years. (Yep that's right boys, start lining up now... scrubs and 4 hours of sleep and no free time is attractive to other people right??!)
Peace out girl scouts.
Liv
But I don't want "good" and I don't want "good enough" I want "can't sleep, can't breathe without you" love Front porch and one more kiss, it doesn't make sense to anybody else Who cares if you're all I think about, I've searched the world and I know now, It ain't right if you ain't lost your mind Yeah, I don't want easy, I want crazy You with me baby? Let's be crazy
So I had been wondering when I would come face to face with life's next big decision. Life's next big challenge. The next line to check off life's ever important to-do list. And well... it seems I have stumbled, er more like crashed head first, into it.
What do I want the rest of my life to be?
Am I to follow a passion 'til it drives me to a life of crazy hours and solitary nights? Or do I settle in a different direction and spend that left over time cultivating a life outside of medicine? What is my passion, really? And whatever it is, will it last? Will it fulfill? Will I look back with regret either way??
Y'all know I have always been one to jump into life's next big thing head first. I am a do-er. Follow my heart, think later. And well, that hasn't always treated me kindly. But I have a big, big heart and I fall hard, fast, and I don't think I'll ever be able to change that. But, I am starting to take a little more time before I fully let go of the ledge, leaving the past for the future. Lately, I tied a rope to a tree in hopes of a slower descent.
Still it's hard to give up that free-fall. That feeling of flying. But, it has saved me a couple of bruises by trading in that hard, cold splat of my usual landing for a much softer touch down.
And on that note, I am completely, head-over-heels, and indescribably in LOVE.
With surgery.
Now I know what you must be thinking. "Is it for real this time, Olivia? I mean you've had so many flings before. Give it some time to really get to KNOW each other. Maybe you are just lusting after the energy, the excitement, the intensity, the rush." And yeah, well, I probably am. And maybe I'll feel this way about every. single. other. rotation. And really that would be a blessing, because then maybe I wouldn't have to face this dilemma and I could just happily match into something where I am home by 5pm and can go to my future daughter's dance recitals.
But then again. Maybe I won't.
What if nothing else makes me feel like medicine is where I belong? What if nothing else makes me smile in the middle of the night when I get to scrub in (and mostly just watch) a four hour vascular surgery? What if I belong here, and I miss it terribly when I have to leave?
Is it really time to put on my big-girl panties and make big-girl life decisions? Already?
In the past when I hit similar road-blocks, I have found so much solace in the words of St. Paul. His lost and found story. The real-ness in his words. He always finds a way to untangle the mess that is my confusion. And thank God I have been hearing his words these past couple of Sundays. See today's second reading:
Brothers and sisters:
Therefore, since we have been justified by faith,
we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ,
through whom we have gained access by faith
to this grace in which we stand,
and we boast in hope of the glory of God.
Not only that, but we even boast of our afflictions,
knowing that affliction produces endurance,
and endurance, proven character,
and proven character, hope,
and hope does not disappoint,
because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts
through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. [Romans 5:1-5]
And I guess the point is that everything we go through and everything that lies ahead is all connected. All the struggle influences all the success. All the confusion becomes the steadiness. We flow from one high to another and in between we fall down and we get back up. We move forward and we hope that it really is forward where we are moving. I used to pray that God would show me where He wanted me to end up. What should be my life? But then, really recently, I realized that He is trying to show me every day...by filling my big, big heart with passion. By testing my strength. By giving me the choice between the easy and the hard way. And always pulling me through when I inevitably choose the hard way.
I mean, really do I EVER listen to ANYONE when they try to tell me straight-up what I should do?? Usually that sends me sprinting in the complete opposite direction, or defensively trying to argue another point of view, just to be contrary. This "gentle nudge" approach really is the way to go with me anyway. So I guess I'll stop freaking out now and stop waiting for divine intervention and just take it all for what it's worth. I will keep an open mind and let myself be nudged. And let my heart fill up, but try not to let go just yet. To keep my rope tied and my heart just on the edge of bursting.
So maybe I will be surgeon when I grow up. Maybe. But maybe I'll have a steamy affair with Ob/Gyn. Or maybe internal medicine will take me by surprise. All I know is that, this time anyway, I won't let the free-fall trick me into falling flat on my face. This time next year I will gracefully let go of that rope, knowing that wherever I land, I will be in good hands and I will be living the life I was meant to live. Happy, and full of purpose. Passionate and probably exhausted. But mostly just MINE.
Liv
Now we live our own lives But in the night when my spirits drifting And I come up from the deep end dive I see the eyes of my unborn children And I’m filled with the love I will give them Cause it’s the love I was given It’s the love we were given It’s the love I will give them To teach them
So they learn to dance So they learn to dance You can learn to dance In this world you can learn to dance when there’s no tomorrow [Andrew McMahon/Learn to Dance]
I'm alive And I don't need a witness To know that I survived I'm not looking for forgiveness Yeah, I just need light I need light in the dark As I search for the resolution I need light in the dark As I search for the resolution- Jacks Mannequin: Resolution So I'm done with boards. I'm done done done doneeeee. And it feels like nothing. and everything. but mostly nothing. but anyway, I am so glad it's behind me and I can spend a week with some great friends trying not to think about medicine for a little while and just enjoy the sunshine. I just wanted to say thank you to Bristol. Thank you thank you thank youuu. I had the most amazingly wonderful time while I was home. And it really did feel like home, and not just some place I was stopping through for a couple of days. It really did feel like the place where I came from and the place where I belong, even if only for a short while. The support from family and friends meant more to me than I can express in words. Much more. It made studying actually enjoyable, well, as enjoyable as it could possibly be. And it made me smile much more than I would've just holed up in my study closet in Memphis. That is for sure. And that makes me happy. So, again, thank you Bristol, for everything. I've been saying "thank you" a whole lot recently. And I hope that's not too mushy, or too "feel good" or too whatever. Honestly, I've been saying thank you for a whole year. And in case you were wondering, yes, it has been almost a whole year. Two weeks from my one-year-out-mark. I never thought I'd be here, let alone so well adjusted and happy and being so dang cheesy. I've had so many different strategies for trying to deal with it all. At first, I really thought I could just push it way down and never think of it again. And I tried that for a while, and it was fun and I did a lot of "trying to be normal." But then I did a lot of thinking about it, and comparing everything to it. The pendulum was swinging the other way and I was "trying to put everything in perspective." And, well, that was just as unfulfilling and awful and impossible. But then I realized, not on my own mind you, but realized just the same, that it's okay to not be normal AND to not compare everything that I do to having cancer or to not having cancer. I can just be a "regular" person who went through this hell and is now living. Just living, like anyone else. Just experiencing everything and smiling and hurting just like anyone else. And stressing about boards and bickering with my sister (lovingly) and dishing about a date. I realized it's been a year. And so much has happened in a year. And NONE of it has anything to do with having cancer. And that feels damn good. More than good. I finished my second year of medical school on a high note and took the first step of my medical boards. I lost ten pounds. I had the most wonderful times going out (and staying in) with friends. I worked on my relationship with my parents. I learned how to love those crazy puppies again. I let go of all the bitterness. I forgave. I thanked. I loved. At the risk of sounding super lame (which probably isn't that much of a stretch) I went to see Andrew McMahon in concert in Nashville on Wednesday night, alone, because I am that cool. (Also he played me Konstantine and I can die happy now.) But really, it made me realize how far I'd come and how much I've changed. I am more brave now. I take more chances. I don't let anyone, or anything, get in the way of my life. I would've never been able to do that in the past... but here I am, and nothing scares me anymore. (Well almost nothing, that plane to Florida was sooooo terrifyingly bumpy, so there is that.) So here's the point: it has been (almost) a year. And it has been long enough that I look like a normal, cancer-free 24 year-old-girl. I have short precious normal girly hair. Life is happening all around me. And I am living, just like anyone else. Except not just like anyone else. This is my life. I survived and I am thankful. And more than that, I am brave. See y'all on the other side of one-year. Liv
Remember when I used to say I studied all the time. Well that was before this. That was before USMLE Step 1. I take the first part of the "medical boards" on April 16th. That's ten days away... holy (something) that's terrifying, and exciting, and numbing. But the point of this post is not to dwell on that, because, well honestly, I dwell on that probably too much already, and I think about it and I worry about it and I study study study, zone out, study, fall asleep reading flash cards, wake up, coffee, repeat. Ev-er-y-freak-ing-day. So no more mention of this dang test. Probably. (Ha, just kidding, that's impossible)
The point of this post is gratefulness in a big way. The point of this post is that I have spent so many nights of my life up studying and sacrificing and working my butt off to get where I am today. To be able to say that I am taking that test (see, already mentioned it again) in ten days. And it hasn't just been the normal kind of struggle, but the kind of struggle that makes me proud to be here and makes me smile (mostly, sometimes it's still too soon). The kind of struggle that makes my happy to be working so hard, every day, towards this goal.
I laugh as I think about this debate I have with this guy in my class sometimes when we mosey out to the bars after a test. "I love it," I say, "all of it, the studying and the awful late nights and the stress, I wouldn't change any of it" And he says, "Oh my god it's awful... the studying and the books and the sitting, get me to the hospitals now.... I am so tired of reading." And this conversation literally never goes anywhere, just me smiling and shaking my head and him rolling his eyes. Then we probably cheers and the evening goes on, the conversation lost amongst so many other others as we blend with the night.
Man, what I wouldn't give for a night like that right about now. Just a bunch of medical students, good friends, celebrating the end of another testing block, tired as all heck, getting all our complaints out, and all of our good times in before it all comes back around again. It's hard for me to be this solitary. Cabin fever is sinking in bad and I am itching for a good time. I mean I don't think I've worn real pants for more than 5 hours since I've been home. (But let's be honest, that's not much of a change). Sigh. Ten more days.
But I am grateful. I am content. I am busy, too busy for lots of the other things that could, and definitely would, make me smile. Like sunshine, and a morning dedicated to nothing by a latte and a friend. But as I push forward past these last couple of weeks into the next ten days, I am happy. Stressed and bored and jittery and happy. And definitely grateful.
Grateful that my life has lead me right here. Grateful that with every tug in some direction or another, that I always ended up back here.
It feels like where I am supposed to be.
All the other paths I could have taken. All the other "nos" or "yeses" I could've said. But, I wouldn't want it any other way. I mean, I could be half way around the world teaching English or something, putting that French degree to use. Walking down the street with a pain-au-chocolat in hand (dang, that actually sounds amazing right about now.) Or living back in Bristol (like I am doing now to study) and married with two kids. I could come home every night and kiss their foreheads and pick up toys and cuddle up next to some man while we fall asleep watching the RedSox game (also sounds kind of nice.) But that wasn't my path. It's not where I was meant to go. All of my twists and turns lead me here instead, just like they were supposed to. I try so hard to keep my faith in something bigger, something that guides our actions and our lives. This is one of those things that keeps me holding tight to that faith.
Fate is alive and well.
But fate isn't a blind faith. It's definitely the kind of faith that requires more than just prayers and hopes, it requires hard work and dedication and passion. Sacrifices and gratefulness. All of these things that lead to me smiling like an idiot reading a microbiology chart. Doing flashcards with my dad for fun. Quizzing my neighbor on Pharmacology while I'm visiting on my "study break." Being so proud of my uWorld "highest score" and wanting to out-do it everyday.
I can do this. I can do ten more days. Because it's not just ten more days.... it is a lifetime of studying and sacrificing. It is being that 45 year old soccer mom and never having a tan. It is working til I'm dead tired and saying no to countless night of non-med-school-friends begging me to join them out for a beer. It is more than the life I have chosen at this point, it is the life that fate has chosen for me.
Cheers to that.
Liv
You know you can't keep lettin' it get you down And you can't keep draggin' that dead weight around. If there ain't all that much to lug around, Better run like hell when you hit the ground.
The most notable parts of our lives are usually the surprises... the unplanned nights out... the chance encounters... the letter you thought you'd never get.... or the diagnosis... the good news and bad. This is where we find meaning and purpose in our lives. This is where we say "aha! everything happens for a reason!" and we smile at serendipity.
But what about the other 98% of our lives? Honestly back then, that 98% was getting pretty hard to handle and I had yearned for distractions. Successfully collecting a few, for a while... But now my life is back on track and I don't really stray from the norm too much these days...
Except sometimes, every once in a while, I actually notice the constant. I notice the same old hallways and study rooms. It reminds me that our lives are like big "exposure therapy" projects. Something will always be there to remind me of my past no matter how much I've moved forward. Recently, it was a bone marrow drive and watching the first years learn about neoplasm and immunology. It was a flashback to February 2012: when I first thought that I'd had just about enough of that chemo business. I had reached out for help for the first time, not realizing what a dang mess it would turn into and not knowing that it was exactly what I needed to pull myself out the other side.
I went back and read those year-old emails and journal entries, in the spirit of exposure therapy, and realized something... well a couple of somethings. First of all, I never thought I'd be here. (Here being healthy.) It just seemed so ridiculously far away. And while it was far, it IS here now, and I have the long (5) inches of hair to prove it!
Reading the words I wrote one year ago, I also saw myself through a new perspective. I was able to see that girl who was terrified and unsure yet strong and determined. I was able to admit that I was so fragile, so embarrassingly fragile, a word I would have never wanted to describe me, and one that hopefully never will again. But I didn't break and I made it and I think I'm getting much stronger. My perspective has normalized. I can finally (lovingly) roll my eyes at that small girl who cried her self to sleep at night... thank goodness.
I often wonder when I will be able to define myself in other ways. Not just that cancer way. Not wonder all te time if I can or cannot drop some funny cancer jokes or bring it up during those late-night "deep" bar conversations. And I guess that was the realization: I will never not be that girl who went through all this mess. It will always be a part of me no matter how normal life becomes around me. And as such, I will inevitably stumble upon reminder after reminder for (probably) the rest of my life. Eventually, they wont be daily reminders or even monthly reminders. And that will be great. But, I guess I might as well just give into the power of exposure therapy now and just go with it....
Bring it on world. Paper the walls with posters of his face and make me review cancer drugs. Oh wait, you already had that on the schedule. perfect. <3
Liv
Well I met an old man dying on a train. No more destination, no more pain. Well he said one thing, before I graduate"Never let your fear decide your fate."
Fat Tuesday: a day we gorge ourselves on all the things we are about to "give up."It really is an insane concept. Just one more cookie, another round bartender, etc etc. Come Wednesday morning you are hungover, but resolute, right? Today's that day you turn your life around... well until you forget and definitely only for forty days. It's just something you do every year, for your waistline or for Jesus...
Lately, I've been doing a lot of thinking about what I can do to simplify my life. And most importantly how I can find happiness in that simplicity. I trimmed all the excess and as you read in that last post, tried to find beauty in the mundane, the everyday. And I made some changes.
And they are really just the biggest things.
I stopped stress-eating taco bell. I made yoga a priority. I studied, more (and better) than I thought was possible. I picked up my old journal. I listened more and (tried to) talk less. I slept. I crossed things off my long "to-do eventually" list. It's became this crazy, and to my surprise, wonderful feed-forward cycle.
I feel more like myself than I have in years. I feel happy and healthy. I am proud of myself for taking control of my own life. I had no help from the premise of "new year's resolutions" and/or Catholic guilt. (The fact that I didn't blog about it for a whole month is also definitely a big deal, you guys.) I woke up one day and I decided to let go. To let go in order to move forward.
I am really liking this new trajectory. (And how my pants fit again.)
And while it is so nice that I am losing some of that post-cancer weight I accumulated (probably from a little too much post-cancer celebrating) and it's awesome to smile at a test grade, what's more important is what happened when I threw out all that baggage I was trapped under. Because when I let go of everything I didn't need, I got my life back. And I gained purpose.
Now, clearly I am not saying that all of you should give up bread and take up daily meditation in it's place. (And please, pleaseee don't take the title of this post seriously!) But, find what's been weighing you down and give that up for lent. Take this time to be honest with yourself. Maybe it's a relationship, or maybe it's a grudge. Maybe it's gossip or negativity. Maybe it's unnecessary worry. Maybe it isbread and being a lazy butt. (And if it's all of the above, then even better).
Wouldn't it be great if change finally had a chance at some staying power. If in forty days you had forgotten all about this "trial period" and you, well, changed. You had found purpose, and you liked it. You had more time to think about the things that really mattered and do more of the things that really mattered. Because you gave up all the stuff that just didn't.
What if we all traded something bad for something better?
Think about it.
Liv
Elation- Isbells What is this? It's kind of like... All my body starts to shiver Worries will no longer have Oh, I've never felt like this before Got to let it go I'll shout it out I will sing it from the heart. This is right, this is good Expressions of elation A state of mind of which I'll try To re-echo from the start Come on! Shut it out And release it from the heart... Oo-hoo-oo-oo
Talk on Indolence- Avett Brothers Well I’ve been lockin' myself up in my house for sometime now Readin' and writin' and readin' and thinkin' and searching for reasons and missing the seasons. The Autumn, the Spring, the Summer, the snow. The record will stop and the record will go. Latches latched the windows down, the dog coming in and the dog going out. Up with caffeine and down with a shot. Constantly worried about what I’ve got. Distracting my work but I can’t make a stop and my confidence on and my confidence off. And I sink to the bottom and rise to the top and I think to myself that I do this a lot. World outside just goes it goes it goes it goes it goes it goes... and witness it all from the blinds of my window. THREE, FOUR
I'm a little nervous 'bout what you'll think When you see me in my swimming trunks And last night in New York I got raging drunk Remember one time I got raging drunk with you
Now, I can recall a time when we made the city Streets our playground, kissing in the fountains Filled with cigarettes and bottles Sped through Italian city streets of cobblestone
Because we had to Because I loved you Because the damned alcohol Beacuse what ever at all
Now I've grown to aware of my mortality To let go and forget about dying Long enough to drop the hammer down And let the indolence go wild and flying through Because we had to
Ahhh the first "snow" day of the year. Little children out "sledding" in the ice covered rainy streets and annoying the heck out of their parents. The postman cursing his existence. Me, sitting at my desk drinking mint tea in a onsie taking a break from an all day study marathon that I have yet to begin.
I think of all the negativity that surrounds me, that surrounds all of us. God, it's freezing and my car is making a weird noise and the overhead lighting in my room is finicky. And I'm single. And school is so hard and all-consuming. I could just hibernate and ignore it all and not talk to anyone. I could enjoy endless cups of mint tea and just say "screw it all" because the world is a cold, hard, miserable place... sometimes.
But only just sometimes...
Sometimes I wish everyone could see the world through new eyes. To see the beauty in the icicles and find a beautiful melody amongst the grumblings of generations. To find peace in the chaos.
You see, there was a time when I was looking at it all wrong. I was trying to make my life perfect and pretty and neat. I was trying for the sake of perfect, pretty, neat. This picket fence and that kiss me when I get home husband. That christmas card. Sure, there is happiness to be found there... but what is the point? Because eventually you will get tired and that beauty will fade. Those icicles are just daggers and the grumblings are just grumblings.
Instead, seek beauty. And not superficial beauty, but a deeper beauty found only in compassion, equality, and peace. Find it everywhere and share it with everyone you know. Clear away the cobwebs of negativity that seep into every little thing we do. Let's all lighten up a little, okay. Laugh a little. Smile at a stranger.
And let's find that beauty in a traffic jam and a neuroscience textbook. Find it during those long logistics meetings and while cleaning the kitchen. Because let's face it, life isn't going anywhere anytime soon (hopefully) and most of it is just busy work. And personally, I don't want to miss out on all the fun of life because I am spending it cursing the car in front of me or dreading all of my school assignments. I'm going to try and find the beauty in it. Find meaning. Find that beautiful, true happiness. That fresh snow just waiting to be discovered.
So join me and seek beauty, too. Or I don't know, go find someone else to grumble to...
Liv
I've got a plan, I've got an atlas in my hands I'm gonna turn when I listen to the lessons I've learned -"Atlas Hands" Benjamin Francis Leftwich
A year from now I won't think about it. A year from now it will be January 4th 2014 and it will all just be a blip in my past. I won't think about how, a year ago, right this very moment was the worst day of my life, every single day.
A year can seem like such a long time...or like no time at all. Because there are a couple of years I don't even remember.. being 9, sophomore year of high school, toddlerdom... but man last year was a doozie. It was all ups and downs and nothing in between. It was a year of growth and realization and overcoming. I started this blog for the fun of it and it got all crazy emotional and sad. So in the spirit of coming full circle, I am going to bring a little bit of light and laughter back. Because, to be the super cliche that I am half the time, I feel that light and laughter creeping in more and more everyday. And thank God for that.
Sooooooo I have brought back the list!
Olivia's Top 10 Take Home Points of 2012:
10. I have a really nicely shaped bald head. I mean, it is possible that some people MAY NEVER KNOW THIS about themselves, and so in that sense I consider myself lucky.
9. Boy should be required to wear engagement rings.
8. What doesn't kill you doesn't always make you stronger. Usually what doesn't kill you, just almost kills you. Rather, YOU make you stronger.
7. Sometimes you fail. AND THAT'S OKAY as long as you really tried. You were meant for bigger and better things.
6. Ladies, if you want to attract lots of other ladies (if you know what I mean) I would recommend a short blond pixie cut. Sixty percent of the time, it works every time.
5. Holding on to and keeping in touch with those who matter is one of the most important things you can do. Even more important, though, is letting go of those who don't matter at all.
4. PET scan machines should have an "are you sure you want to delete this file?" screen that pops up after you click delete. Just saying. Might be helpful. I mean, my gmail has one...
3. Pie crust is best made with chilled butter. And my new kitchen aid stand mixer. And a glass of wine.
2. Sincerity, true sincerity, is rare and should be cherished. Same with making an A on a medical school exam.
1. Once in a while, check to make sure you are still breathing. Are you? Good, that means you're alive and you have everything to be grateful for. Now don't waste a second of this life which is so rare and special and unique that it will only be lived once. Make it count.
Alright, see you never 2012!
Liv
Won't you come see about me? I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby
Tell me your troubles and doubts Giving me everything inside and out and Love's strange so real in the dark Think of the tender things that we were working on
Slow change may pull us apart When the light gets into your heart, baby
Don't You Forget About Me Don't Don't Don't Don't Don't You Forget About Me
The holidays are a time of mass chaos. Semesters finishing up. Presents to buy. A million parties to attend. Chat. Laugh. Cry. Repeat.
I wonder how we became the age of all consuming technology. How something so small blows up on the internet, the newest facebook sensation. Or how something so big and horrible becomes inescapable. How our lives become inescapable. Do-do-do and that boy is texting you, news alert, twitter mention, facebook e-vite.
So I have decided to unplug. And I guess this blog post is cheating but oh well. No one will read it anyway because I'm not going to post it to my "timeline" or tweet about it. It will just be our little secret. I am taking this month off. From chaos and drama and virtual reality. I am doing yoga by myself and drinking lots of tea. I am reading. (I admit I am finishing up Grey's Anatomy). I am writing. I am seeing friends. I'd rather stare at my sweet sleeping puppies anyway than the screen of a stupid cell phone.
If you know me at all you know that I have never been this girl. But that was before. One year ago I was lying on the dang couch cursing those hyper puppies because I was so tired. I was pulling out my own hair, crying and begging for it to stay in just a little bit longer. I was sick. I was pleading to God. Then, then I was glued to my phone, to the distractions. To the prayers of hundreds of friends. To the emails that would eventually get me through this mess. I needed it. Craved the distraction. Life was too hard and I wanted to escape.
So I escaped into a world of blog posts and facebook messages and encouraging tweets. I escaped into the second year of medical school. I buried myself in books and inspirational quotes. I threw myself into a whirlwind relationship that was insane and so unnecessary. It was like trying to distract a toddler in the middle of a temper tantrum, "quick look over here, look at this new toy, please be quiet, if you are good we can stop for ice cream..."
But I made it. And here I reliving the moments that we all live every year. It's the end of another semester, it's the holidays, and it's being home for Christmas. Soon it will be my third year of medical school and then summer and then thanksgiving and then we will be back around again and again and again, if we are so lucky. Second helpings of the same ol' life with a brand new outlook.
Except this time I am not distracted.
I have never been so clear in my whole life. Like I said, I unplugged, and if you want to reach me, then well I don't know, maybe you should just come ring my door bell. The mountain air of East Tennessee is as cleansing as ever and I am soaking it all in. I am striving for peace of mind and for perspective and for restoration. I am recharging my batteries. Because Lord knows that it will all hit the fan again when January rolls around, for the second time since. Life will still be there and school will still be killer and I will still have to deal with a million medical appointments and follow-ups. But, I will take a deep breath and say "bring it on." I won't let myself be distracted.
I have landed on solid ground and this year, I am seeing things in a new light. It's my second Christmas since...and well, I can breathe. So leave me alone, unless you want to unplug with me, and then let's all grab some egg nog and cozy up by a fire somewhere. I swear they must have been happier in the "old days." Blissfully unaware of what was happening thousands of miles away and so blissfully aware of their own time and place. Lost in the eyes of someone across the room instead of in the lastest episode of Parks & Rec. Hand running through my hair instead of checking the score of the game. Real time conversation with real time laughter and tears.
Let's get back to that, okay?
Liv
It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters And make fun of our exes It feels like a perfect night for breakfast at midnight To fall in love with strangers We're happy free confused and lonely at the same time It's miserable and magical oh yeah Tonight's the night when we forget about the deadlines, it's time
I'm standing in a crowd of people. I'm swaying to the sweet, sweet voice of Sufjan Stevens. I'm smiling, so big. I'm happy. I'm right where I want to be. Where I am supposed to be.
Last night was exactly one year since I found out. Three hundred and sixty five days ago, at this very moment, I was waking up in the ICU after having what felt like a million emergency procedures and biopsies. I was waking up. Waking up to a life that wasn't what it should be, what it could be...
Then I changed. I changed so many things. It's amazing what can happen in just one year. How just one hurdle can throw off the entire course of your life... for better or for worse. I am running in the right direction now. It's all going to be okay, better.
I feel more like myself now. I fill up every inch of every day with love. I am bursting at the seams with love. I am running towards a life full of meaning. I am trying to be better, to do better.
And now here I am. I am not perfect. But I am here.
Where I should be.
I was in love with the place In my mind, in my mind I made a lot of mistakes In my mind, in my mind
You came to take us All things go, all things go To recreate us All things grow, all things grow We had our mindset All things know, all things know You had to find it All things go, all things go
If I was crying In the van with my friend It was for freedom From myself and from the land I made a lot of mistakes I made a lot of mistakes I made a lot of mistakes I made a lot of mistakes
Everywhere I look recently I see ghosts. I feel tired. I am tired from shoving it all back inside. I am tired of bringing it up. I know no one wants to hear it anymore.
It's been a whole year...
So here goes, another cathartic free for all mess of emotion. I will speak into the empty space so I can finally stop choking on the words..."remember then, I can't believe it still, I was so tired, I was so sick, what a crazy thing, but I'm good now, different, so good.." Things could not possibly be more different now. Different people, different house, different way of seeing things, different challenges. I am so different. Yet I keep coming back to the same.
It's just my mind. It is so jumbled. Trying to separate the sameness out from the constantly changing background. Trying to hang on for dear life to that feeling. To that desperate thankfulness. To those tears of joy.
No one is happy all that time.
I feel like I am cheating. Wake up, study, eat, sleep, breathe, breathe, breathe. Sameness. How easily we all forget what it's like to be upside down. How easily we sink back into where it is too comfortable. How easily we let that different slip though our fingers. We readjust to the different so it too becomes part of the same. We recalibrate. We keep moving forward. We keep breathing.
I lust for someone to come along and wake me up. Yearn for it. Slap some damn sense into me. Open my eyes. Yet, I know there is no one capable of a gesture so grand. Well no one that is, except for myself. And right now I am just hitting that snooze button, sliding deeper under the covers, shielding myself from the cold, from the dark, from the sameness. I am scared of not feeling. Of becoming mediocre. Of being a fraud.
I guess that's normal.
So for now I will retreat back under those covers to protect my vulnerabilities. My sanity. My sameness. For just a minute longer. Knowing that I WILL find that place where I am hiding and I will invite myself to see life upside down, again. To break through that sameness that is so comfortable but so terribly smothering.
I will, I promise, but just one minute more....
Liv
We'll fast forward to a few years later And no one knows except the both of us And I have honored your request for silence And you've washed your hands clean of this
Life is a hurricane spinning out of control. You blink and it's eleven months later and you are out laughing with friends. You've forgotten all of the horrible times and you just are. The present sneaks up on you. Time slips by so quickly. And I just can't believe it's been eleven months since I first heard those crazy words "we found a mass"...
I had a little meltdown in Mass tonight. You cannot just spring an "anointing of the sick"-sacremental-free-for-all on me like that. I need at LEAST a week to prepare my emotional state. For all of my non-catholic friends, "anointing of the sick" is basically just a special blessing where a minister anoints your forehead and the palms of your hands and prays over you. It is meant to bring you strength and healing, and underlies some of my most powerful memories. They are like mile markers, corresponding so well with every stage of this whole thing. Beginning, middle, end...
The first time I was anointed:
I was home for the first time since I was diagnosed and dragged my weak little self to Mass, determined to put on a brave face for all those who knew and who needed reassurance. Cancer really is just a series of comforting words and reassuring smiles to everyone else. I made the rounds and hugged and smiled 'til my face hurt. Then, just as I was leaving, Father Tim grabbed my hand and asked if I had a minute for him to anoint me.
Now up until this point in my life, I have been healthy, like insanely healthy. Not one broken bone. I still have my tonsils and all my wisdom teeth. I didn't even catch the swine flu when it swept through sorority recruitment in 2009. I had never even given the sacrement a second thought. It was for old people and people with cancer (I literally just laughed out loud writing that). Who ever thinks anything like this will ever happen to them?? It's always someone else. It's always someone else and never you. Until it is you.
I had been talking to an old high school friend and neighbor, Hunter, who I hadn't seen for years, so I grabbed him and his brother and called for my parents and sister. We all held hands in a circle next to the baptismal font. Father Tim said the blessing as I bawled like a baby, squeezing Hunter's hand. I felt so helpless and tired. So sick and needy. It was one of the first moments I remember feeling truly helpless in this whole mess. But, in that moment, helpless was right. In that moment, all I could do was cling to a prayer and try to find that minuscule bit of strength left inside me. And so I did.
It was just the beginning and I knew it was going to get much worse before it got better. So, I mustered up whatever tiny courage I had left and I put that smile on my face and I did it. I lost my hair and put my body through hell. I studied my butt off, even when I felt like crawling back into bed for a month. Honestly, I don't even remember much of anything else. PTSD or something like that. But there are some moments from that era that still have memories attached, like...
the second time I was anointed:
I was in Memphis and heard that they were going to be doing a special anointing of the sick Mass the weekend both my parents were going to be in town. I think this was around mid-February, right smack in the middle of the it all. I remember it so well. I had just had chemo on the Friday and felt awful, but was happy to see my Dad. And at this point I desperately wanted to be anointed, to find that strength again, because it was fading fast and even though the PET scans showed that I was responding brilliantly to the chemo, well chemo just plain wipes every ounce of happiness and strength right out of you, so I needed to stock back up. Courage on aisle twelve.
I was wearing my new wig, the dark brown sassy one with bangs. I sat towards the back between my parents. We sat away from any children so they couldn't cough on me. It's funny how I used to cringe with every sneeze I heard. I was fairly new to that church, but I think people knew. I mean, I was the girl in the scarf. The bald girl always has cancer. Plus I was bawling again.
The preist called us all up and I stood there with the others, probably the only one under fifty years old. I closed my eyes while the preist said his blessing over me and traced the sign of the cross on my forehead and palms. Even standing at the front of the church, among so many people I didn't know, it was just as intimate as before. I felt relieved for some reason. All the worry left my body and I was vulnerable again, as helpless as ever. I walked back to my parents and just cried. Public crying is kind of just a thing I do now, clearly.
This was the middle...the horrible awful middle. The middle is the hardest part of anything. Looking back and looking ahead become equally as hard. My life was all cancer, all the time. We were even learning about it in school. It was all I thought about, talked about, dreamt about. I was bald. I was tired. It was just the middle and I wanted it to be the end. Sometimes if I'm in a really bad place, I just close my eyes and wish for it to be the next day, year, anything. As if time really worked like that. As if I have any control. But, just like that I blinked and it WAS over. And it was...
the third time I was anointed (aka tonight):
I was just sitting in Mass surrounded by some friends. Corie and I were loudly butchering the unfamiliar music (we went to a different church because we overslept the morning Masses), when out of nowhere the priest announced that anyone who so chose could come up to be anointed. I quickly thought, "Yes, finally, I don't have to do stuff like that anymore! It's just for old people and people with cancer blah blah blah..." But, then a fear gripped my chest and I though maybe I should just in case. While I no longer craved it, I still couldn't say no. Then came the tears again. (See, I had very little time to prepare myself, which was not conducive to my emotional stability.) I held out my hands and took a deep breath as the priest blessed me. I walked back and sat down and smiled at my friends. Then I had the meltdown, right there on Corie's shoulder (It wasn't super bad noise wise though, I've kind of perfected the silent cry at this point, which is necessary when you do so much public crying.)
But this time I was crying for different reasons. I was so overwhelmed that I had just come out on the other side of that blink. Here I was eleven months later, and healthy again. I was being a normal twenty-four year old medical student and going to concerts and halloween parties and playing on the flag-football team. I was smiling for real and for myself and not for anyone else. I was crying and I was smiling and I was fine. And I am so fine.
I have reached the end of that chapter of my life. Most of the time I don't even think about any of it at all, but rather there are moments, songs, sights, smells, tastes that bring me back there. And it is in those moments that make me so glad that I have finished that blink. I closed my eyes eleven months ago, praying to come out on the other side. Now they are open.
I have opened my eyes.
Liv
if i kiss you where it's sore
will you feel better?
will you feel anything at all?
