January 19, 2015 has come and gone. So many things make it feel like a 100 years ago. Yet, moments come, and thoughts enter that take me instantly back there like it was yesterday. He could care less if anyone ever knew what we were experiencing. At first when I shared with him I was blogging about his brain cancer and my feelings about it, he said he didn't want me to. It made him uncomfortable to know people are reading anything about his life.
If for nothing else I blog about this, to remind me of the universal connections that bring us together whether tragic or joyful...in darkness or light.
Hope is what brings me back to writing this blog. There are times when things get so hard, the pressure so unbearable, and our weaknesses become so unavoidably obvious, that I throw my hands in the air and beg for this to be all over. "Take me now, I can't continue. What is the point?" It doesn't have to be cancer that brings us to the brink of self destruction! Many things in this life push our mortal being to the edge of security and sanity.
What stops us from giving in and giving up?
I've had more teary days and nights than I can count. I have done more second guessing than I care to readily admit. I like to think of myself as a good, caring, person, willing and able to help make a difference. But I get tired, emotional, and drained...I feel guilt for wishing we could go back to the way things were before cancer, even though I still had things I complained about then too. "Will I ever truly be happy with anything?"
I wonder...
I haven't had a perfect life. I don't believe any of us do. Although there are arguments for perfection out there, I think most of us struggle at one point or another to become who we truly are comfortable being. Scott and I have discussed this many times. This illness has brought about so many changes for both of us, its hard to imagine such rapid change being possible. I wonder why it has to happen so quickly?
What's around the corner if we are coming from this?
I rarely talk about the anger outside my close circle because it's uncomfortable. The grief. The deep, deep sorrow that comes from knowing the sickness is here, it's not going away, and my best friend who has it, is changed forever. It feels like I'm drowning in mourning some days, because Jan 19, 2015 the person I have worked to know live with and love, was still whole and we didn't have to try to remain connected. We just were. Everyday since has been an exercise in mental and physical endurance to remain loyal, faithful and kind.
I don't openly share how difficult it is to wake up in the morning and go to work to take care of our family, all the while praying nothing comes apart while I'm gone. I've said, I am fortunate to have to work to escape to. I went through months of feeling guilty because I have my career and Scott doesn't anymore. I willed myself out the door and then back again, because I knew once I left I would feel some sense of relief. Yet on my return, someone will be crying, unhappy, or yelling because emotionally, everything has changed and I'm not here to run interference so the guilt sets in.
I've been asked why I don't tell the whole truth when I write about this journey. And the truth is, unless you have to live with this kind if reconciliation, even if it's written about, you will trivialize it. You will judge the perception. You will say things like, it will get better or it doesn't look like anything is really wrong, or I know it's hard now, but it will not always be this way...etc.... and unless you have personally had to watch someone you love so dearly, morph before you eyes and without your permission, into someone you barely recognize and know - you don't always understand what it takes to mentally and physically live this kind of life.
People constantly compliment Scott on his weight loss. "He looks so good. He looks amazing. How is he doing that? Aren't you so proud of him?" If I never get anything else across to you, let me share this. It's not amazing that he has lost 140 lbs. It's not something he feels proud of. It's not a compliment to tell a cancer patient that since they've been so sick, and wishing God would just take them, rather than keep them here experiencing this pain and heartache, now that they are thin, they should really be excited about that!
Its wonderful to be healthy. It's fantastic to be fit. Weight loss during illness does not equate to happily ever after and finally achieving weight loss goals. You ask him, if he would rather be fat and healthy with his career and his memory...or sick and thin from his treatment, retired and without some of his brain, which do think he will choose? For any one out there who thinks finally reaching your goal weight is the cherry on top of this whole cancer thing...it's not. It's one hell of a consolation prize for loosing so many other things you once held so dear and hardly worth it.
And then there's me. Angry with people for thinking he has this whole thing beat because he looks so good and seems so happy. I'm jealous of the weight loss, because I can't do it too. Feeling lost and frustrated that he gets to be home with the kids and run the house, while I don't get to anymore. He gets to sleep and do whatever he wants during the day, and I don't. My life doesn't feel my own anymore and even though I feel this way, so does he. I tell myself the same thing I just told you.
But I'm still mad about it.
It doesn't mean I've lost hope...don't get me wrong. We have asked the question, what is the point of all of this? Should we keep doing this? What if we try so hard and we loose anyway? I have cried and screamed and cursed God for all of this. We have bad days, or weeks or months.
And then, something happens.
The anger and resentment subsides. The smile returns to our faces. We can laugh, we can forgive each other for being weak in moments that overwhelm us. We remember that neither one of us asked for this and we are not in control. We can, look for the good in each other and those around us. We finally find a way to say the things we keep inside for fear of being rejected or abandoned. We find that in letting go, a new kind of security finds its way into our thoughts.
We keep moving forward because no other direction makes sense and we hold on to what we know, what we have made, and what we have practiced because that's how we hunt for hope.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Saturday, July 4, 2015
The 25%
There are a lot of statistics about the success of relationships when one partner becomes seriously ill. Numerous people have actually said to me, "I don't know how you do it. It must be so hard to stay."
Yep. It's hard to stay but it would be harder to leave. When the thought creeps in of how easy it would be not to deal with this disease...I remember that life wasn't easy before this happened to us either. To measure the success of a relationship based on how easy or difficult it is, is pointless in the big scheme of things.
You must know sorrow to understand and embrace joy. Opposition in all things, is what makes us grow and reach beyond what we think we are capable of at the time.
Scott and I have been married for 17 years. All of them hard in one way or another. We don't live a fairy tale life by any means. We have fought, literally, to stay together. Every time the world says, "Why do you stay?" We show them and we grow stronger.
I read the other day that 75% percent of couples who have one spouse diagnosed with a serious illness, mental, physical, or terminal, do not stay together. Not because one spouse dies, but because one, or both leave the relationship. I wondered if this is really true.
Being sick or sharing a life with someone who is, to say the very least, is difficult on many levels for many reasons. No one is sheltered from a life altering diagnosis. It changes everything, and many people, it seems, don't have the ability to accept and grow with what comes.
The words to describe something so difficult don't come easy. Finding hope and hanging on when everyday seems more hopeless than the next, can be terrifying and exhausting. Giving up does seem easier at times, but giving up doesn't solve the problem.
At the end of the day, Scott still has brain cancer. I wish every moment of every day that he didn't, but he does. There is not much he or I can do to change that, outside of treatment and hope. The only way to win the war is to keep marching forward, so that's what we do. Right, wrong, or indifferent. We keep fighting.
We fight with each other. We have bad days. We struggle with depression, sadness, anger, and guilt. We feel sorry for each other and for our kids. This was not the way we planned to live our lives.
The way I see it, we have some options. We can leave...and he still has brain cancer. We can fight and argue, and guess what? He still has cancer. We can feel defeated and frustrated, letting all the negative in and surround us in it's unfairness...
Or
We can find ways to be thankful for the time we have together. We can embrace the life we have and make the best of it. We can keep our chins up and remember in the moments when it is hard, why we love each other in the first place and wanted to have a life together.
I say this all the time, nothing about this is easy. But I have come to realize that isn't true. Living with Scott, is easier than living without him. I know this. Some days are just brutal, no matter who you are or what you face.
Getting to have love in my life is something I cannot take for granted, no matter how hard it is to keep going. I won't just walk away because this isn't what I signed up for. The hope is, neither will Scott.
Days are getting better and better as time and healing goes on. We take them as they come and do our best. The thing I work on most is forgiving myself for the moments when I feel myself breaking. The moments I am so angry about the things I have to do now and the life I am still mourning, the times when I feel weak and afraid of what will be.
But they are usually just moments. I find if I can let them be and move through those times and not take up residence there, I can forgive myself and get on to something more productive.
I have learned, that even in suffering, love can shine through. When my faith fails me, I look for love and whenever I see it, there is hope waiting to be found right along with it. I don't know what the future brings, but I do know that the 25% of us who make it through without leaving...
Are all in the best of company. Hopes finds those who look for it.
Yep. It's hard to stay but it would be harder to leave. When the thought creeps in of how easy it would be not to deal with this disease...I remember that life wasn't easy before this happened to us either. To measure the success of a relationship based on how easy or difficult it is, is pointless in the big scheme of things.
You must know sorrow to understand and embrace joy. Opposition in all things, is what makes us grow and reach beyond what we think we are capable of at the time.
Scott and I have been married for 17 years. All of them hard in one way or another. We don't live a fairy tale life by any means. We have fought, literally, to stay together. Every time the world says, "Why do you stay?" We show them and we grow stronger.
I read the other day that 75% percent of couples who have one spouse diagnosed with a serious illness, mental, physical, or terminal, do not stay together. Not because one spouse dies, but because one, or both leave the relationship. I wondered if this is really true.
Being sick or sharing a life with someone who is, to say the very least, is difficult on many levels for many reasons. No one is sheltered from a life altering diagnosis. It changes everything, and many people, it seems, don't have the ability to accept and grow with what comes.
The words to describe something so difficult don't come easy. Finding hope and hanging on when everyday seems more hopeless than the next, can be terrifying and exhausting. Giving up does seem easier at times, but giving up doesn't solve the problem.
At the end of the day, Scott still has brain cancer. I wish every moment of every day that he didn't, but he does. There is not much he or I can do to change that, outside of treatment and hope. The only way to win the war is to keep marching forward, so that's what we do. Right, wrong, or indifferent. We keep fighting.
We fight with each other. We have bad days. We struggle with depression, sadness, anger, and guilt. We feel sorry for each other and for our kids. This was not the way we planned to live our lives.
The way I see it, we have some options. We can leave...and he still has brain cancer. We can fight and argue, and guess what? He still has cancer. We can feel defeated and frustrated, letting all the negative in and surround us in it's unfairness...
Or
We can find ways to be thankful for the time we have together. We can embrace the life we have and make the best of it. We can keep our chins up and remember in the moments when it is hard, why we love each other in the first place and wanted to have a life together.
I say this all the time, nothing about this is easy. But I have come to realize that isn't true. Living with Scott, is easier than living without him. I know this. Some days are just brutal, no matter who you are or what you face.
Getting to have love in my life is something I cannot take for granted, no matter how hard it is to keep going. I won't just walk away because this isn't what I signed up for. The hope is, neither will Scott.
Days are getting better and better as time and healing goes on. We take them as they come and do our best. The thing I work on most is forgiving myself for the moments when I feel myself breaking. The moments I am so angry about the things I have to do now and the life I am still mourning, the times when I feel weak and afraid of what will be.
But they are usually just moments. I find if I can let them be and move through those times and not take up residence there, I can forgive myself and get on to something more productive.
I have learned, that even in suffering, love can shine through. When my faith fails me, I look for love and whenever I see it, there is hope waiting to be found right along with it. I don't know what the future brings, but I do know that the 25% of us who make it through without leaving...
Are all in the best of company. Hopes finds those who look for it.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Effects of Radiation and Chemo
I never thought I would actually be writing about this. The effects of radiation and chemo...no one really wants the down and dirty of cancer treatment. But there is so much doctor's can't tell us about living with disease and how it's going to affect, not only the person who has the illness, but their family and friends as well.
Anytime the feel goods go away, we shrink back, re-think what we should or should not say or do, and begin to isolate ourselves.
Once we reconciled the fact we were going to have to deal with cancer treatment, we thought we understood what that meant. How can we know, when we've never done this before? I think it's easy to try and identify with what we've seen in media, or heard about from others. But it's nothing like what we thought.
Everyone has a different and individual experience with treatment. Not only because every body is unique and reacts differently, but because the cocktail of poison, it's exact dosage, and the type of drugs used and how they are delivered, levels of radiation administered without or without chemo, depends on each persons DNA, age, weight, size, type and stage of cancer, where in the body the cancer is located, and whether it has moved from that original location or not. The processes for treatment may be similar by types and stages of cancer, but the exact way they go about it is much more individualized than we were aware of.
This individualization is what makes it wonderful and difficult at the same time. There are enough similarities with radiation and chemo treatments to generalize them to: Hair loss, nausea, loss of appetite, weight loss, depression, fatigue... which is exactly what the doctor's told us to expect. We weren't surprised by these at all.
What is more surprising are these: constant head aches, blurry vision, unable to think clearly, feelings of despair, anger, loneliness, fear, self pity, repetition of thoughts, confusion, ranting, fantasizing about the future, delusions to some degree, thinking you can do more than you can, sleeplessness, too much sleep, constipation, isolation, not wanting to see anyone or do anything, unable at times to relate to the world outside, self centered ideas, thoughts and actions, day to day ruts, loss of intimacy, loss of strength, insecurity, and the temporary inability to get past the negative spiral of how sucktacular this all really is.
There are probably many more. But the point I need to make here is that the above feelings and actions are not only attributed to the person with the illness. Spouses, care-takers, other immediate family members, and friends close to the situation, can all experience these exact same things. Definitely not the most glamorous parts to talk about. But it's the reality.
When I re-read the negative emotions and actions above, the psychoanalyst in me thought, "Well of course, he (you) feels this way. Who wouldn't?" And then..I realized that I have heard this before. "Of course, yeah...uh-huh. This is expected"...but not openly talked about because it's so HARD.
These two thoughts war with each other in my mind rather constantly. This one: "Of course I understand this is difficult and no one really expects me to be okay all the time. There is room for other people to have patience and understanding for me and what I am going through right now."
On some level I know people expect me to not know everything, have it all together, and need other people to help me. But I am conflicted, when people pay this compliment, "I don't know how you do it. You seem so together." So if I say, I'm not...will they be disappointed or relieved? It's a lot of pressure.
And this one, where people show me on a daily basis they don't understand what I am going though at all, are not there for me, cannot see me, and tell me in many ways, "Yes, we know you have needs to, but you aren't the one with cancer."
So, because I'm not sick, my needs suddenly don't matter anymore? This doesn't make a lot of sense.
When did this become a contest? Oh yeah, back there at I'm not the one who actually has the disease. I do get to live with it though, which is somehow not as hard or difficult or tragic as actually having it. But only because of the perception. I was right there, with the rest of you, in that thought... right up until this happened to us.
I swing back and forth between minimizing my own feelings and feeling guilty because I don't actually have a physical disease, but needing what I still need. I feel all the same emotions and struggle with this every bit as much as I see my husband struggle with it all. It's a constant tit for tat in my mind, if I let it. So I try not to.
It doesn't feel good to be angry because your spouse is sick all the time, can't do the things they once were able to, engage in conversations like they once did, or even be intimate without or without sexual contact. None of this is his fault, so therefore I shouldn't be mad. Right? I just shouldn't be mad at him? Right?...If I am mad, then maybe there is just something wrong with me?
See this negative spiral and where it goes? I need to be able to feel how I feel, without having to justify it all of the time. Even to myself. This is all really hard work. Understand, I don't want to be mad, I just am. Because this is not what I expected, wanted, or asked for...whatever.
We didn't ask for this. I don't want to be changed, or have my husband changed. Okay that part's not totally true...I always wanted him changed a bit, but more like in Cinderella with the pumpkin or the glass slipper. Polish the rough edges, a bit. Not an extreme makeover...
Most people don't know to ask, or even think about all the changes that are occurring within relationships when one person becomes critically ill. I had no earthly idea all the things that would change, temporary or not. I didn't know I would end up feeling so angry and vying for attention and affection on top of it. It feels like a recipe for disaster and it IS!
Like a train wreck you can see coming, you know it's going to be horrific. You're unable to turn away and it's completely traumatizing when you see it. You feel helpless to do anything to stop it...all the while knowing you will have to return to whatever you were doing before this all happened. But you're not the same and can't quite be the way you were before. No one who did not live what you just lived, will understand why you can't just get over it. Because there are a thousand pieces, re-telling the story leaves out. And not on purpose...
It's not easy to admit, there are strains, losses, and unpleasant issues that you can't really be prepared for or even see and easily recognize. Knowing things will be "hard" or "difficult" seems to generalize what is happening in the same way people say raising teenagers is "hard" or "difficult." Everyone has a bit of a different experience and just how hard or difficult it is, really is up to the individuals in the situation and their own perceptions and expectations.
I expected treatment to be hard for him. I had no idea just how draining, emotional, and scary it would be for me. The guilt of having some of these feelings, is enough by itself to make me want to stay in bed and hide every single day.
But I don't. I do a lot of other not so great things, but I'm not hiding. It gives me a sense of belonging, when I write about the extremely hard things, no one else says. I think because of this, I force myself to keep going, just to see how it will all turn out on the other side of this.
When I go back to one of the first articles I read about what I needed to know about my spouse having cancer, one of the first sentences began... "It will change every relationship you have. Every one."
I didn't realize then, how much that would apply to my marriage. I must think there is Teflon on this thing. I knew it would change it, sure. But the extent to which we have been forced to grow, change and learn in such a quick amount of time...Boy Nelly! I wasn't quite ready for that. I somehow missed the "every one" part of that statement.
It should have been followed with "THIS MEANS YOU!"
I've talked to many different people whose lives have been touched in some way by cancer, brain tumors, and other serious, long term illnesses. The common thread is how hard it all is, for everyone involved. But hard for different reasons.
There's something about me that requires my learning to take place in big chunks, with many things happening all at the same time. Not sure why, except that I am one of those people who have to be hit by a mack truck to get it...and so it goes.
I think the lesson right now might just be letting go, and not expecting that I have to fix anything. Things are as they are, and there is nothing for me to do except, as my friend Catie says, "learn to surf the waves."
Some people get sick...others arrive sick. Some recover, some don't. Others never feel sick a day in their lives.
I think for Scott, he has never really felt or understood being sick, until now. He's had colds. He's been down and out. He's broken a bone, had a few bumps and bruises, even been stabbed before. But nothing compares to this.
Before when he felt ill, he knew he would get better and recover completely and quickly. Brain cancer brings him to a whole new level of sick and tired that he's literally never experienced with anything else. He has physically and emotionally lost part of himself that he will never get back.
He told me he can't look himself in the mirror because seeing the bald patch from radiation makes him feel horrible. So on top of feeling physically sick, he now feels emotionally sick too. He looks down whenever he's in the bathroom, so he can avoid the mirror. I know this is temporary and the hair will grow back, so does he. But right now, in this moment, it's hard to see past what's missing.
These are the things we take for granted and don't realize...what you think doesn't matter, actually might. He never really cared about his hair before, he thought. Never admitted how it enhanced his looks. Now that it's falling out in this weird pattern, he can't look at it because it makes him feel "less than." Nothing has ever done that to him before in his entire life.
Some of this has reminded me of when I was pregnant the first time. I mentioned it to Scott yesterday. He recalls me being "horrible." I was moody, tired, emotional...uncomfortable, couldn't sleep well, didn't feel like walking sometimes, couldn't eat the way I used to, I had nausea and heart burn, the smell of certain foods made me sick, and I felt as if I was just a shell being used for some other purpose beyond all of my control.
He had to remind me to eat, force me to walk, literally help me up out of bed or chair. He had to regularly attend doctors appointments that weren't at all about him. He endured the smelly gas, the crying, and the whining because of this or that...in his mind it was a 9 month hell. But at the end was this beautiful baby, whom he says is "completely worth it."
He used to say motivational things like, "suck it up, get over it. Don't worry about it, you're beautiful, yada yada..." All those platitudes he gave me, the ones he thought were so helpful, seem so insensitive to him now. I gently reminded him of course.
Learning empathy is a really difficult thing to do. Sometimes we just simply cannot understand until we are literally standing in the same places, going through something we never thought we would have to.
I can't begin to say that I understand what Scott is going through personally. I can, however relate to how hard it is to feel motivated to do anything, when your entire body is screaming at you because it hurts, is tired, and feels entirely different inside and out. I remember feeling so worthless and crazy when I was pregnant, because I couldn't think straight, and I knew it but couldn't control it. All I wanted was for my husband to understand just how difficult it all was for me then.
But not like this.
The difference is that there is not a beautiful baby at the end of this one. There is something, but it's not exactly tangible. Hope. It's growing and becoming so much more evident in our lives because of this experience. I am sure we could have learned these lessons many other ways, but we don't have control over that. We can only control what we do with it from here.
I try to have the same compassion for him now, I wished he would have had for me then. I don't always succeed. I fall short of being the perfect nurse-maid-wife-mother-friend. I understand, more now than ever, why people can't always be who we want them to be, when we think we need them to.
I find I have more understanding today, because I do fall short of being who Scott needs me to be right now. I can only show more empathy today, because I live on both sides of needing it and giving it; mostly finding myself in the position of simultaneously requiring empathy for myself and needing to give it to others, regularly.
I had no idea the effects of radiation and chemo would end up teaching us more about compassion and empathy. Even when it's the hardest, hope shows itself to me through new eyes. Scott and I are connecting in ways I didn't know we could. In small ways like joking about his weird hairdo...and in feeling his pain when he says how much he hates it.
With our insecurities and all, radiation and chemo are helping us find out how to simply appreciate and show more gratitude for the other person in this world willing to tolerate all our imperfections.
And keep working on a life together...
Anytime the feel goods go away, we shrink back, re-think what we should or should not say or do, and begin to isolate ourselves.
Once we reconciled the fact we were going to have to deal with cancer treatment, we thought we understood what that meant. How can we know, when we've never done this before? I think it's easy to try and identify with what we've seen in media, or heard about from others. But it's nothing like what we thought.
Everyone has a different and individual experience with treatment. Not only because every body is unique and reacts differently, but because the cocktail of poison, it's exact dosage, and the type of drugs used and how they are delivered, levels of radiation administered without or without chemo, depends on each persons DNA, age, weight, size, type and stage of cancer, where in the body the cancer is located, and whether it has moved from that original location or not. The processes for treatment may be similar by types and stages of cancer, but the exact way they go about it is much more individualized than we were aware of.
This individualization is what makes it wonderful and difficult at the same time. There are enough similarities with radiation and chemo treatments to generalize them to: Hair loss, nausea, loss of appetite, weight loss, depression, fatigue... which is exactly what the doctor's told us to expect. We weren't surprised by these at all.
What is more surprising are these: constant head aches, blurry vision, unable to think clearly, feelings of despair, anger, loneliness, fear, self pity, repetition of thoughts, confusion, ranting, fantasizing about the future, delusions to some degree, thinking you can do more than you can, sleeplessness, too much sleep, constipation, isolation, not wanting to see anyone or do anything, unable at times to relate to the world outside, self centered ideas, thoughts and actions, day to day ruts, loss of intimacy, loss of strength, insecurity, and the temporary inability to get past the negative spiral of how sucktacular this all really is.
There are probably many more. But the point I need to make here is that the above feelings and actions are not only attributed to the person with the illness. Spouses, care-takers, other immediate family members, and friends close to the situation, can all experience these exact same things. Definitely not the most glamorous parts to talk about. But it's the reality.
When I re-read the negative emotions and actions above, the psychoanalyst in me thought, "Well of course, he (you) feels this way. Who wouldn't?" And then..I realized that I have heard this before. "Of course, yeah...uh-huh. This is expected"...but not openly talked about because it's so HARD.
These two thoughts war with each other in my mind rather constantly. This one: "Of course I understand this is difficult and no one really expects me to be okay all the time. There is room for other people to have patience and understanding for me and what I am going through right now."
On some level I know people expect me to not know everything, have it all together, and need other people to help me. But I am conflicted, when people pay this compliment, "I don't know how you do it. You seem so together." So if I say, I'm not...will they be disappointed or relieved? It's a lot of pressure.
And this one, where people show me on a daily basis they don't understand what I am going though at all, are not there for me, cannot see me, and tell me in many ways, "Yes, we know you have needs to, but you aren't the one with cancer."
So, because I'm not sick, my needs suddenly don't matter anymore? This doesn't make a lot of sense.
When did this become a contest? Oh yeah, back there at I'm not the one who actually has the disease. I do get to live with it though, which is somehow not as hard or difficult or tragic as actually having it. But only because of the perception. I was right there, with the rest of you, in that thought... right up until this happened to us.
I swing back and forth between minimizing my own feelings and feeling guilty because I don't actually have a physical disease, but needing what I still need. I feel all the same emotions and struggle with this every bit as much as I see my husband struggle with it all. It's a constant tit for tat in my mind, if I let it. So I try not to.
It doesn't feel good to be angry because your spouse is sick all the time, can't do the things they once were able to, engage in conversations like they once did, or even be intimate without or without sexual contact. None of this is his fault, so therefore I shouldn't be mad. Right? I just shouldn't be mad at him? Right?...If I am mad, then maybe there is just something wrong with me?
See this negative spiral and where it goes? I need to be able to feel how I feel, without having to justify it all of the time. Even to myself. This is all really hard work. Understand, I don't want to be mad, I just am. Because this is not what I expected, wanted, or asked for...whatever.
We didn't ask for this. I don't want to be changed, or have my husband changed. Okay that part's not totally true...I always wanted him changed a bit, but more like in Cinderella with the pumpkin or the glass slipper. Polish the rough edges, a bit. Not an extreme makeover...
Most people don't know to ask, or even think about all the changes that are occurring within relationships when one person becomes critically ill. I had no earthly idea all the things that would change, temporary or not. I didn't know I would end up feeling so angry and vying for attention and affection on top of it. It feels like a recipe for disaster and it IS!
Like a train wreck you can see coming, you know it's going to be horrific. You're unable to turn away and it's completely traumatizing when you see it. You feel helpless to do anything to stop it...all the while knowing you will have to return to whatever you were doing before this all happened. But you're not the same and can't quite be the way you were before. No one who did not live what you just lived, will understand why you can't just get over it. Because there are a thousand pieces, re-telling the story leaves out. And not on purpose...
It's not easy to admit, there are strains, losses, and unpleasant issues that you can't really be prepared for or even see and easily recognize. Knowing things will be "hard" or "difficult" seems to generalize what is happening in the same way people say raising teenagers is "hard" or "difficult." Everyone has a bit of a different experience and just how hard or difficult it is, really is up to the individuals in the situation and their own perceptions and expectations.
I expected treatment to be hard for him. I had no idea just how draining, emotional, and scary it would be for me. The guilt of having some of these feelings, is enough by itself to make me want to stay in bed and hide every single day.
But I don't. I do a lot of other not so great things, but I'm not hiding. It gives me a sense of belonging, when I write about the extremely hard things, no one else says. I think because of this, I force myself to keep going, just to see how it will all turn out on the other side of this.
When I go back to one of the first articles I read about what I needed to know about my spouse having cancer, one of the first sentences began... "It will change every relationship you have. Every one."
I didn't realize then, how much that would apply to my marriage. I must think there is Teflon on this thing. I knew it would change it, sure. But the extent to which we have been forced to grow, change and learn in such a quick amount of time...Boy Nelly! I wasn't quite ready for that. I somehow missed the "every one" part of that statement.
It should have been followed with "THIS MEANS YOU!"
I've talked to many different people whose lives have been touched in some way by cancer, brain tumors, and other serious, long term illnesses. The common thread is how hard it all is, for everyone involved. But hard for different reasons.
There's something about me that requires my learning to take place in big chunks, with many things happening all at the same time. Not sure why, except that I am one of those people who have to be hit by a mack truck to get it...and so it goes.
I think the lesson right now might just be letting go, and not expecting that I have to fix anything. Things are as they are, and there is nothing for me to do except, as my friend Catie says, "learn to surf the waves."
Some people get sick...others arrive sick. Some recover, some don't. Others never feel sick a day in their lives.
I think for Scott, he has never really felt or understood being sick, until now. He's had colds. He's been down and out. He's broken a bone, had a few bumps and bruises, even been stabbed before. But nothing compares to this.
Before when he felt ill, he knew he would get better and recover completely and quickly. Brain cancer brings him to a whole new level of sick and tired that he's literally never experienced with anything else. He has physically and emotionally lost part of himself that he will never get back.
He told me he can't look himself in the mirror because seeing the bald patch from radiation makes him feel horrible. So on top of feeling physically sick, he now feels emotionally sick too. He looks down whenever he's in the bathroom, so he can avoid the mirror. I know this is temporary and the hair will grow back, so does he. But right now, in this moment, it's hard to see past what's missing.
These are the things we take for granted and don't realize...what you think doesn't matter, actually might. He never really cared about his hair before, he thought. Never admitted how it enhanced his looks. Now that it's falling out in this weird pattern, he can't look at it because it makes him feel "less than." Nothing has ever done that to him before in his entire life.
Some of this has reminded me of when I was pregnant the first time. I mentioned it to Scott yesterday. He recalls me being "horrible." I was moody, tired, emotional...uncomfortable, couldn't sleep well, didn't feel like walking sometimes, couldn't eat the way I used to, I had nausea and heart burn, the smell of certain foods made me sick, and I felt as if I was just a shell being used for some other purpose beyond all of my control.
He had to remind me to eat, force me to walk, literally help me up out of bed or chair. He had to regularly attend doctors appointments that weren't at all about him. He endured the smelly gas, the crying, and the whining because of this or that...in his mind it was a 9 month hell. But at the end was this beautiful baby, whom he says is "completely worth it."
He used to say motivational things like, "suck it up, get over it. Don't worry about it, you're beautiful, yada yada..." All those platitudes he gave me, the ones he thought were so helpful, seem so insensitive to him now. I gently reminded him of course.
Learning empathy is a really difficult thing to do. Sometimes we just simply cannot understand until we are literally standing in the same places, going through something we never thought we would have to.
I can't begin to say that I understand what Scott is going through personally. I can, however relate to how hard it is to feel motivated to do anything, when your entire body is screaming at you because it hurts, is tired, and feels entirely different inside and out. I remember feeling so worthless and crazy when I was pregnant, because I couldn't think straight, and I knew it but couldn't control it. All I wanted was for my husband to understand just how difficult it all was for me then.
But not like this.
The difference is that there is not a beautiful baby at the end of this one. There is something, but it's not exactly tangible. Hope. It's growing and becoming so much more evident in our lives because of this experience. I am sure we could have learned these lessons many other ways, but we don't have control over that. We can only control what we do with it from here.
I try to have the same compassion for him now, I wished he would have had for me then. I don't always succeed. I fall short of being the perfect nurse-maid-wife-mother-friend. I understand, more now than ever, why people can't always be who we want them to be, when we think we need them to.
I find I have more understanding today, because I do fall short of being who Scott needs me to be right now. I can only show more empathy today, because I live on both sides of needing it and giving it; mostly finding myself in the position of simultaneously requiring empathy for myself and needing to give it to others, regularly.
I had no idea the effects of radiation and chemo would end up teaching us more about compassion and empathy. Even when it's the hardest, hope shows itself to me through new eyes. Scott and I are connecting in ways I didn't know we could. In small ways like joking about his weird hairdo...and in feeling his pain when he says how much he hates it.
With our insecurities and all, radiation and chemo are helping us find out how to simply appreciate and show more gratitude for the other person in this world willing to tolerate all our imperfections.
And keep working on a life together...
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
How are You......Really?
I get this question all the time. "I've read your blog, but I still don't know how Scott or you are. How are you, really? In the spirit of making sure this update is no frills, and to the point, here's where we are and how Scott is, right now.
You wouldn't know to look at him, that anything has changed. The 50 pound weight loss works in his favor. He looks amazing for everything he's been through. The giant scar from surgery, is barely noticeable, because they didn't have to shave his head for the surgery.
One month ago, Scott underwent an operation to remove as much of his brain tumor as possible, that required him to have an incision from about the middle top of his head, carved like a sideways question mark ending right in front of his left ear to expose his skull. They needed to create what's called "flap." This flap, is basically a 2-3 inch diameter piece of skull drilled out to expose the place in the brain to be removed.
At this point, they woke him up. So he could talk to the surgeons, ensuring they would not damage his ability to communicate. Both thought and speech are generated in the part of the brain they were operating on. Once the doctor removed as much affected brain tissue as possible, about a 4 1/2 cm section of the left temporal lobe, they put Scott back to sleep and closed him up.
Closing, involved patching the dura. This is a tough skin like barrier which prevents fluid surrounding the brain from leaking out. Then, they replaced the flap by reattaching the circular piece of bone they removed, with titanium screws. Once that was done, they pulled the skin back over his skull and stapled the entire incision shut.
This surgery was a miraculous in so many ways. The fact that human being can live through such a thing is absolutely amazing.
The recovery, however, is long and very, very difficult.
His surgeons told us, there would be relatively no pain, since the brain has little actual nerve endings.
What this ended up looking like, was that in relation to the rest of the body, the actual pain center would not be as much as say, an open heart surgery. But make no mistake, this was extremely painful. That would have been nice to know ahead of time.
He has had to be on a pretty strong narcotic pain medicine since Feb 16, 2015. He has headaches every single day. He forgets to eat. He has somehow lost all interest in eating anything at all. Food just doesn't taste good to him anymore. He still has to take 6 huge horse pills, also known as Keppra, to prevent seizures.
He has a hard time thinking of the right words to use. He forgets people's names, unless it's someone he knows really well and sees all the time. He can't read or watch television for any length of time, because his left eye is still recovering from the surgery. His left ear does not hear the same way and he has a hard time following conversations sometimes.
To most people, none of this is highly noticeable. He is great at masking. But he has lost most of his filter. He told someone at church on Sunday, that they look old. That 4 1/2 cm piece of the temporal lobe they removed, has affected his impulse control. He says whatever comes to his mind, whether appropriate or not. He doesn't mean to say things, but can't really control it at this point.
He hasn't lost any motor function, at all. In fact, when we met with the radiation oncologist last week to discuss the radiation and chemotherapy treatments he will be starting, I joked that the doctor had just declared there doesn't appear to be anything wrong. "You're doing above average, as far as I can tell."
Emotionally, though, he struggles with feeling different than he once was. He wants to be better, and is having a hard time, not working, and not having much to do that he can enjoy. I keep reminding him he is only 4 weeks out from brain surgery. But he still asks me everyday, "why does my head hurt all the time?"
So how is he, really? It's a complex question, with a lot of different answers. According to his doctors, he is doing fantastic. According to him, depending on the mood of the hour, he is either doing fine, or thinks he is a burden to his family and feels guilty and awful for something he has no control over. He sleeps a lot, which is to be expected. He has mood swings, which is also to be expected. He still has pain. He is still healing, and will be for a long time yet.
But in the big scope of how he is, he is alive. He is able to speak and think and do a lot of things independently. He is worried all the time, that he is causing too much difficulty for his wife and children. He worries about the fact he has been unable to work and provide for us for over year now. There is no amount of me taking up the slack, that makes him feel better about any of this.
How he is, varies from day to day. But he is getting better and stronger, every day. He is more aware of his emotions and how he affects others, although that control isn't there. The emotional toll on all of is is quite a lot. But with the grace of God, and all the support of people who love us, we will get through. Scott will continue to survive and eventually be able to return to work and enjoy all the things he loves to do.
It will just take awhile. And in the meantime, we will keep hunting for hope.
You wouldn't know to look at him, that anything has changed. The 50 pound weight loss works in his favor. He looks amazing for everything he's been through. The giant scar from surgery, is barely noticeable, because they didn't have to shave his head for the surgery.
One month ago, Scott underwent an operation to remove as much of his brain tumor as possible, that required him to have an incision from about the middle top of his head, carved like a sideways question mark ending right in front of his left ear to expose his skull. They needed to create what's called "flap." This flap, is basically a 2-3 inch diameter piece of skull drilled out to expose the place in the brain to be removed.
At this point, they woke him up. So he could talk to the surgeons, ensuring they would not damage his ability to communicate. Both thought and speech are generated in the part of the brain they were operating on. Once the doctor removed as much affected brain tissue as possible, about a 4 1/2 cm section of the left temporal lobe, they put Scott back to sleep and closed him up.
Closing, involved patching the dura. This is a tough skin like barrier which prevents fluid surrounding the brain from leaking out. Then, they replaced the flap by reattaching the circular piece of bone they removed, with titanium screws. Once that was done, they pulled the skin back over his skull and stapled the entire incision shut.
This surgery was a miraculous in so many ways. The fact that human being can live through such a thing is absolutely amazing.
The recovery, however, is long and very, very difficult.
His surgeons told us, there would be relatively no pain, since the brain has little actual nerve endings.
What this ended up looking like, was that in relation to the rest of the body, the actual pain center would not be as much as say, an open heart surgery. But make no mistake, this was extremely painful. That would have been nice to know ahead of time.
He has had to be on a pretty strong narcotic pain medicine since Feb 16, 2015. He has headaches every single day. He forgets to eat. He has somehow lost all interest in eating anything at all. Food just doesn't taste good to him anymore. He still has to take 6 huge horse pills, also known as Keppra, to prevent seizures.
He has a hard time thinking of the right words to use. He forgets people's names, unless it's someone he knows really well and sees all the time. He can't read or watch television for any length of time, because his left eye is still recovering from the surgery. His left ear does not hear the same way and he has a hard time following conversations sometimes.
To most people, none of this is highly noticeable. He is great at masking. But he has lost most of his filter. He told someone at church on Sunday, that they look old. That 4 1/2 cm piece of the temporal lobe they removed, has affected his impulse control. He says whatever comes to his mind, whether appropriate or not. He doesn't mean to say things, but can't really control it at this point.
He hasn't lost any motor function, at all. In fact, when we met with the radiation oncologist last week to discuss the radiation and chemotherapy treatments he will be starting, I joked that the doctor had just declared there doesn't appear to be anything wrong. "You're doing above average, as far as I can tell."
Emotionally, though, he struggles with feeling different than he once was. He wants to be better, and is having a hard time, not working, and not having much to do that he can enjoy. I keep reminding him he is only 4 weeks out from brain surgery. But he still asks me everyday, "why does my head hurt all the time?"
So how is he, really? It's a complex question, with a lot of different answers. According to his doctors, he is doing fantastic. According to him, depending on the mood of the hour, he is either doing fine, or thinks he is a burden to his family and feels guilty and awful for something he has no control over. He sleeps a lot, which is to be expected. He has mood swings, which is also to be expected. He still has pain. He is still healing, and will be for a long time yet.
But in the big scope of how he is, he is alive. He is able to speak and think and do a lot of things independently. He is worried all the time, that he is causing too much difficulty for his wife and children. He worries about the fact he has been unable to work and provide for us for over year now. There is no amount of me taking up the slack, that makes him feel better about any of this.
How he is, varies from day to day. But he is getting better and stronger, every day. He is more aware of his emotions and how he affects others, although that control isn't there. The emotional toll on all of is is quite a lot. But with the grace of God, and all the support of people who love us, we will get through. Scott will continue to survive and eventually be able to return to work and enjoy all the things he loves to do.
It will just take awhile. And in the meantime, we will keep hunting for hope.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
What We've Learned in 365 Days
It's day 365. We made it. One year. Last February 10, 2014 my husband came home from work, cooked dinner and sat down. A series of events would be set in motion that would prove to be life changing for all of us. As what was initially thought to be a stroke, turned out to be a malignant oligodendra glioma (a grade 3 primary brain tumor) took almost this entire past year to fully diagnose.
My hunter is always prepared for the worst case scenario. (He thinks.) Our home is laden with bug out bags, water tight boxes, ammo, first aid kits, weapons, and clothing for every type of weather. Our garage and basement are filled with tools galore, camping equipment, other hunting and fishing supplies along with maps and GPS devices with saved locations not only for prime hunting, but also safe places to hide if the worst possible thing happens, an all out apocalypse. Zombie or not, he's ready. The only thing missing is an under ground bunker stock piled for the next 20 years. But Scott informs me he certainly has a plan for this too.
All his planning, practicing and preparedness, used to drive me up the wall. You might still catch me rolling my eyes at the mention of a practice drill or a scouting trip. I'll be the first to admit I saw no real point in doing all this "getting ready" for something I assumed would never actually happen.
Scoff now....and eat a big heaping mess of humble pie made of crow, later. It's every bit as tasty as it sounds too, by the way.
What I've been forced to learned so far from this roller coaster ride over the past year is that ups and downs will continue whether I want them to or not. Have I ever mentioned my complete and utter disdain for roller coasters? Literally or figuratively. To say I HATE anything that will plunge my stomach into my throat or give me a sinking pit, is a major understatement. I have realized, however painfully that being aware, dare I say anticipating the plunge, does actually help in more ways than one.
I now understand, even with all the preparation we can think to possibly do, we can't be prepared for everything that might come our way. My brain just isn't big enough to go in all the different directions life can possibly take me. I could have never, ever guessed Scott would have brain cancer. I would not even dare think it, utter it, or as he would say "put it out there" as a possibility.
Someone once told me, as a way to offer comfort, "it would be really rare and the odds are against him having anything this serious." I was supposed to find hope in that. I have to laugh now, every time I recall that being said to me. Because, well as luck would have it, it is that serious and he is the "one in million." In more ways than one.
By the way, if you're ever inclined to give this type of advice to anyone.... DON'T!
It could be that in most cases, you'd end up being right. But for the one time you are completely wrong, it's like putting salt and vinegar in a very deep wound. These words get replayed in a way that becomes nauseating and you'll only end up seeming detached and completely insensitive. So please, I beg you, spare yourself. Say something alone the lines of, "Is there anything I can do to make your day easier?" Think sensitive and action oriented...if you don't want to actually do something, it's okay. Just don't downplay someones difficult situation in an effort to offer support. It doesn't work.
As bad as it is, and as much as I hate this ride...and make no mistake, I HATE THIS...there have been so many things which have come about because of this diagnosis. Not only for Scott, but for all of us. I am no where near a place where I can say I am grateful for this challenge. But I can say I am grateful for the people, and the opportunities we have come to know because of everything we have, and are still going through. I am grateful for what we have been able to learn and discover about ourselves and others. Some of the changes which have occurred, are actually things I have wished for, in one way or another.
I could have never imagined brain cancer might be the answer to some of my prayers...though I'm not entirely sure of this just yet. But it's hard to deny when even Scott says, "Without this happening to me, I would have continued the way I was, and never even become aware that I needed to think in a different way, or see the bigger picture of what I am really supposed to be and do in my life."
I am most grateful for the peace which comes from knowing we can do anything required of us, to get through tough times. Not because we were prepared for them all, but because we know how to prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and take action. I didn't fully understand until now, just how important it is to be mentally and physically ready to take chances and jump on opportunities when the moment is right. My hunter has taught me well.
Some of our relationships have blossomed during this past year. Others have ended or been set to the side. But even for these, I am grateful. Now, I am 100% sure who my go to people are and who they are not. I know who I can count on and who I can't. Letting go of the idea of certain people, can be a difficult thing. Realizing how some will never change, or be what we expect, has actually been quite liberating for me. I can finally move on from wondering if I will ever be good enough to have certain people fully present in my life. I have been able to see once and for all, that it isn't me or anything I am doing wrong.
My hunter has changed. He is more aware of how precious and short life really is. He is aware of how important it is to be a servant to others and do as much good as you possibly can for everyone around, whether they deserve it or not. He has become much more open and in touch with his feelings and he is unafraid to show it.
Scott is still very interested in hunting, but he's now hunting for ways to have deeper relationships with people and understand them much in the same way he once sought to understand his prey. This is a huge thing to anyone who knows him well.
Scott has always been a wonderful man, but this new side to him is really something. I will forever be grateful for this past year we've been able to spend deepening our bond with one another and healing old wounds. We've been able to grow closer than we ever would have otherwise. I don't wish getting cancer on anyone for any reason. But if there ever was a silver lining, this is surely it.
I have discovered more about my husband through serving him and caring for him. I assumed this level of caring for my spouse wouldn't happen until old age. And even then, I thought maybe it would be different because of Scott's independent nature. Scott has always insisted on taking care of himself.
In 2005, Scott broke his foot and was in a cast. He couldn't work until the cast was off. We were just about to have our youngest daughter and had purchased a house. I was 2 weeks from delivery and he would not let me lift a thing. Scott moved our entire house mostly himself. He refused to let me help or ask for help. This is who he has always been. He took a lot of personal pride in being self sufficient in everything.
Flash forward a decade.
Discovering a malignant brain tumor has changed the meaning of independence for both of us. We both have to be much more patient, forgiving, kind, and understanding of what the other needs. He has to let me help him. Before, he would have been ornery and harsh about needing any help. Now he smiles and says "I love you" at least a dozen times a day. He lets me make suggestions and actually accepts my help graciously. Who doesn't appreciate and admire that?
Scott helps me too. His help is more emotional, but exactly what I have needed. He has this voice, some have likened it to the "voice of God." It is strong and soothing, can be jovial and stern...almost all at the same time. I'm grateful he is able to use it and communicate his feelings to me now. The sincerity he conveys is much more healing than just about anything else he could do for me. There was a chance he could have lost his ability to speak, so thankful he didn't.
We have always had a special relationship. We have been put to the test more than expected, and I would argue, more than our fair share. We've been able to endure all that has come our way so far. We know what others we can rely on, it's no longer a question and we won't set ourselves up for disappointment now or in the future.
Being assured of who we can count on, has given us confidence to reach out and we aren't afraid to ask for help when needed. Since we've been through ups and downs so many times before, we know some what to expect when hard times come and don't completely fall apart at the seems. This cancer deal is just a lot bigger of a drop and might take a bit more endurance to get back up on top. We've done hard things before and we will no doubt conquer this beast too.
I've discovered it doesn't help to dwell on the negative aspects of our situation. Do I want people to understand this is all still extremely hard? Yes. Am I going to give a rap sheet of all the bad days and things that completely suck about my husband having brain cancer? Nope.
If you live it, you get it. And if you don't live it, me detailing all the worst parts will not in anyway help you to live it. You might think you understand, but unless you have the same unfortunate luck we do, to be members of this club, there is no way for you to truly understand because you do not have to actually do what we have to do.
Can you have empathy? Only if you've lived this or something similar. You might have sympathy. But sympathizing with us is not the same as knowing first hand the heart ache of not knowing what will come of the person you love most in this world. Let me say one more time, we don't need or want people to feel sorry for us. What we do need is your friendship, your kindness, and your understanding of our imperfections. Especially when you expect us to do or be something we don't have the energy or time to do or be.
To those who have done more than stand by...cried with us, sent messages of hope in return, encouraged me to keep writing and sharing our story...to all who have prayed for Scott and for our entire family...and those who came, even when I said not to...we are so grateful for all the ways big and small you have held us up, kept us going, showed us love, and pushed us to not give up. You all have given us the courage to stay strong and be willing to stand up and do something different than feel just sorry for ourselves.
There have been many days, it would have been easier to wallow in my own pain and sorrow. To stay in bed...to stop trying to push on. I could have said many times before now, this is just too hard and I can't do all that's being required of me alone and give up. And so could Scott. But we've had a few things (and people) to help in those times when it has seemed the darkest.
This is my, nowhere near fool proof, formula for getting through.
Love is real. It doesn't matter if you are the one with love in your heart or if you can only recognize the bigger picture and see there is a universe full of love just waiting to be tapped into. Love's there even when things are not the best. It never stops. In fact, love can continue to grow in the hardest and darkest of times. I always have the hope that this experience is for our own good and the good of others. Even if we can't always see what good it is in the moment. It has brought about a deeper love with more appreciation than I could have ever dreamed. And I have a pretty huge imagination.
Faith is also real. It doesn't matter what you believe or how you live. If there is something bigger than you, a force beyond what you can do alone, you can have faith. Faith gives us the courage to keep on trying, even when trying anymore seems pointless. Faith is knowing something bigger than you is guiding the bus, even when you're the one driving. Faith will get you where you need to go as long as you can hold on for the ride.
Service to others has helped me stop dwelling on the negative and feel sorry for myself, my husband and my own family, and get out there and do something to make help a difference for someone else. I have focused on helping others find hope, and worked hard to make myself a person others can rely on to be there in their own time of need. I always have others needs to focus on and this has helped ease my own suffering in many ways. Mostly, because I don't have the time or energy to really put into an all out pity party. My motto is, "If a party's not big, why bother?"
You might be thinking isn't this making things harder and more complicated? I assure you, it is quite the opposite. Serving others has this quite humbling and empowering effect on not only me but everyone around me. Being able to serve others while going through your own hard time, is literally one of the greatest joys one can ever know.
This type of personal giving brings about a different kind of bond with people that can't truly be done in any other authentic way. Showing someone that "You're not alone" by taking action with and for them, in the midst of your own hard time, is one of the world's most healing and motivating factors for creating and sustaining positivity. It's one thing to say it. But quite another to actually do it.
Hope is being prepared for the worst but expecting the best. We have practiced over and over again. We have been hurt, disappointed, smacked down, and heart broken. We have also been overjoyed, content and excited. Hope gives us the patience to weather a storm, because we have experienced hard times before and we know they don't last.
Good times will come again. And again. And again. When a new challenge comes we are stronger and better able to shelter ourselves this time around because we have done much of this in bits and pieces long before now. We have scouted the hard terrain and recognize the signs. We know how to get what we're after, because we've been successful in past hunts.
This next year, living with this cancer beast will be interesting to say the least. This isn't something we ever wanted to deal with or have. We know we'll have good days and bad days. We know we will need understanding, patience and kindness. We will certainly need to give all this and more to others in return. We are ready, willing, and able to give it our best shot.
The biggest thing this last year has taught me, while we can't always know exactly how to prepare for everything, we can endure anything that comes our way if we want to. We have to make up our minds to survive the best we can. This doesn't mean we will live through it all. It just means we will live the best we can, let the chips fall where they do, and not have any other expectations. This next year, we plan on living with the way things truly are, and not regret what isn't the way it's supposed to have been. We aren't going to waste precious time wishing things were different.
Hunting for hope is the best thing we could have ever done to be prepared for all the difficulties we have faced so far. We will keep on this path, because having hope along with love, faith, and serving others, has has proven to work extremely well. For all we know, this is exactly where and how we are supposed to be, cancer and all.
Whoa! That was a lot for one year. Maybe we can slow down a bit for the next one....
My hunter is always prepared for the worst case scenario. (He thinks.) Our home is laden with bug out bags, water tight boxes, ammo, first aid kits, weapons, and clothing for every type of weather. Our garage and basement are filled with tools galore, camping equipment, other hunting and fishing supplies along with maps and GPS devices with saved locations not only for prime hunting, but also safe places to hide if the worst possible thing happens, an all out apocalypse. Zombie or not, he's ready. The only thing missing is an under ground bunker stock piled for the next 20 years. But Scott informs me he certainly has a plan for this too.
All his planning, practicing and preparedness, used to drive me up the wall. You might still catch me rolling my eyes at the mention of a practice drill or a scouting trip. I'll be the first to admit I saw no real point in doing all this "getting ready" for something I assumed would never actually happen.
Scoff now....and eat a big heaping mess of humble pie made of crow, later. It's every bit as tasty as it sounds too, by the way.
What I've been forced to learned so far from this roller coaster ride over the past year is that ups and downs will continue whether I want them to or not. Have I ever mentioned my complete and utter disdain for roller coasters? Literally or figuratively. To say I HATE anything that will plunge my stomach into my throat or give me a sinking pit, is a major understatement. I have realized, however painfully that being aware, dare I say anticipating the plunge, does actually help in more ways than one.
I now understand, even with all the preparation we can think to possibly do, we can't be prepared for everything that might come our way. My brain just isn't big enough to go in all the different directions life can possibly take me. I could have never, ever guessed Scott would have brain cancer. I would not even dare think it, utter it, or as he would say "put it out there" as a possibility.
Someone once told me, as a way to offer comfort, "it would be really rare and the odds are against him having anything this serious." I was supposed to find hope in that. I have to laugh now, every time I recall that being said to me. Because, well as luck would have it, it is that serious and he is the "one in million." In more ways than one.
By the way, if you're ever inclined to give this type of advice to anyone.... DON'T!
It could be that in most cases, you'd end up being right. But for the one time you are completely wrong, it's like putting salt and vinegar in a very deep wound. These words get replayed in a way that becomes nauseating and you'll only end up seeming detached and completely insensitive. So please, I beg you, spare yourself. Say something alone the lines of, "Is there anything I can do to make your day easier?" Think sensitive and action oriented...if you don't want to actually do something, it's okay. Just don't downplay someones difficult situation in an effort to offer support. It doesn't work.
As bad as it is, and as much as I hate this ride...and make no mistake, I HATE THIS...there have been so many things which have come about because of this diagnosis. Not only for Scott, but for all of us. I am no where near a place where I can say I am grateful for this challenge. But I can say I am grateful for the people, and the opportunities we have come to know because of everything we have, and are still going through. I am grateful for what we have been able to learn and discover about ourselves and others. Some of the changes which have occurred, are actually things I have wished for, in one way or another.
I could have never imagined brain cancer might be the answer to some of my prayers...though I'm not entirely sure of this just yet. But it's hard to deny when even Scott says, "Without this happening to me, I would have continued the way I was, and never even become aware that I needed to think in a different way, or see the bigger picture of what I am really supposed to be and do in my life."
I am most grateful for the peace which comes from knowing we can do anything required of us, to get through tough times. Not because we were prepared for them all, but because we know how to prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and take action. I didn't fully understand until now, just how important it is to be mentally and physically ready to take chances and jump on opportunities when the moment is right. My hunter has taught me well.
Some of our relationships have blossomed during this past year. Others have ended or been set to the side. But even for these, I am grateful. Now, I am 100% sure who my go to people are and who they are not. I know who I can count on and who I can't. Letting go of the idea of certain people, can be a difficult thing. Realizing how some will never change, or be what we expect, has actually been quite liberating for me. I can finally move on from wondering if I will ever be good enough to have certain people fully present in my life. I have been able to see once and for all, that it isn't me or anything I am doing wrong.
My hunter has changed. He is more aware of how precious and short life really is. He is aware of how important it is to be a servant to others and do as much good as you possibly can for everyone around, whether they deserve it or not. He has become much more open and in touch with his feelings and he is unafraid to show it.
Scott is still very interested in hunting, but he's now hunting for ways to have deeper relationships with people and understand them much in the same way he once sought to understand his prey. This is a huge thing to anyone who knows him well.
Scott has always been a wonderful man, but this new side to him is really something. I will forever be grateful for this past year we've been able to spend deepening our bond with one another and healing old wounds. We've been able to grow closer than we ever would have otherwise. I don't wish getting cancer on anyone for any reason. But if there ever was a silver lining, this is surely it.
I have discovered more about my husband through serving him and caring for him. I assumed this level of caring for my spouse wouldn't happen until old age. And even then, I thought maybe it would be different because of Scott's independent nature. Scott has always insisted on taking care of himself.
In 2005, Scott broke his foot and was in a cast. He couldn't work until the cast was off. We were just about to have our youngest daughter and had purchased a house. I was 2 weeks from delivery and he would not let me lift a thing. Scott moved our entire house mostly himself. He refused to let me help or ask for help. This is who he has always been. He took a lot of personal pride in being self sufficient in everything.
Flash forward a decade.
Discovering a malignant brain tumor has changed the meaning of independence for both of us. We both have to be much more patient, forgiving, kind, and understanding of what the other needs. He has to let me help him. Before, he would have been ornery and harsh about needing any help. Now he smiles and says "I love you" at least a dozen times a day. He lets me make suggestions and actually accepts my help graciously. Who doesn't appreciate and admire that?
Scott helps me too. His help is more emotional, but exactly what I have needed. He has this voice, some have likened it to the "voice of God." It is strong and soothing, can be jovial and stern...almost all at the same time. I'm grateful he is able to use it and communicate his feelings to me now. The sincerity he conveys is much more healing than just about anything else he could do for me. There was a chance he could have lost his ability to speak, so thankful he didn't.
We have always had a special relationship. We have been put to the test more than expected, and I would argue, more than our fair share. We've been able to endure all that has come our way so far. We know what others we can rely on, it's no longer a question and we won't set ourselves up for disappointment now or in the future.
Being assured of who we can count on, has given us confidence to reach out and we aren't afraid to ask for help when needed. Since we've been through ups and downs so many times before, we know some what to expect when hard times come and don't completely fall apart at the seems. This cancer deal is just a lot bigger of a drop and might take a bit more endurance to get back up on top. We've done hard things before and we will no doubt conquer this beast too.
I've discovered it doesn't help to dwell on the negative aspects of our situation. Do I want people to understand this is all still extremely hard? Yes. Am I going to give a rap sheet of all the bad days and things that completely suck about my husband having brain cancer? Nope.
If you live it, you get it. And if you don't live it, me detailing all the worst parts will not in anyway help you to live it. You might think you understand, but unless you have the same unfortunate luck we do, to be members of this club, there is no way for you to truly understand because you do not have to actually do what we have to do.
Can you have empathy? Only if you've lived this or something similar. You might have sympathy. But sympathizing with us is not the same as knowing first hand the heart ache of not knowing what will come of the person you love most in this world. Let me say one more time, we don't need or want people to feel sorry for us. What we do need is your friendship, your kindness, and your understanding of our imperfections. Especially when you expect us to do or be something we don't have the energy or time to do or be.
To those who have done more than stand by...cried with us, sent messages of hope in return, encouraged me to keep writing and sharing our story...to all who have prayed for Scott and for our entire family...and those who came, even when I said not to...we are so grateful for all the ways big and small you have held us up, kept us going, showed us love, and pushed us to not give up. You all have given us the courage to stay strong and be willing to stand up and do something different than feel just sorry for ourselves.
There have been many days, it would have been easier to wallow in my own pain and sorrow. To stay in bed...to stop trying to push on. I could have said many times before now, this is just too hard and I can't do all that's being required of me alone and give up. And so could Scott. But we've had a few things (and people) to help in those times when it has seemed the darkest.
This is my, nowhere near fool proof, formula for getting through.
Love is real. It doesn't matter if you are the one with love in your heart or if you can only recognize the bigger picture and see there is a universe full of love just waiting to be tapped into. Love's there even when things are not the best. It never stops. In fact, love can continue to grow in the hardest and darkest of times. I always have the hope that this experience is for our own good and the good of others. Even if we can't always see what good it is in the moment. It has brought about a deeper love with more appreciation than I could have ever dreamed. And I have a pretty huge imagination.
Faith is also real. It doesn't matter what you believe or how you live. If there is something bigger than you, a force beyond what you can do alone, you can have faith. Faith gives us the courage to keep on trying, even when trying anymore seems pointless. Faith is knowing something bigger than you is guiding the bus, even when you're the one driving. Faith will get you where you need to go as long as you can hold on for the ride.
Service to others has helped me stop dwelling on the negative and feel sorry for myself, my husband and my own family, and get out there and do something to make help a difference for someone else. I have focused on helping others find hope, and worked hard to make myself a person others can rely on to be there in their own time of need. I always have others needs to focus on and this has helped ease my own suffering in many ways. Mostly, because I don't have the time or energy to really put into an all out pity party. My motto is, "If a party's not big, why bother?"
You might be thinking isn't this making things harder and more complicated? I assure you, it is quite the opposite. Serving others has this quite humbling and empowering effect on not only me but everyone around me. Being able to serve others while going through your own hard time, is literally one of the greatest joys one can ever know.
This type of personal giving brings about a different kind of bond with people that can't truly be done in any other authentic way. Showing someone that "You're not alone" by taking action with and for them, in the midst of your own hard time, is one of the world's most healing and motivating factors for creating and sustaining positivity. It's one thing to say it. But quite another to actually do it.
Hope is being prepared for the worst but expecting the best. We have practiced over and over again. We have been hurt, disappointed, smacked down, and heart broken. We have also been overjoyed, content and excited. Hope gives us the patience to weather a storm, because we have experienced hard times before and we know they don't last.
Good times will come again. And again. And again. When a new challenge comes we are stronger and better able to shelter ourselves this time around because we have done much of this in bits and pieces long before now. We have scouted the hard terrain and recognize the signs. We know how to get what we're after, because we've been successful in past hunts.
This next year, living with this cancer beast will be interesting to say the least. This isn't something we ever wanted to deal with or have. We know we'll have good days and bad days. We know we will need understanding, patience and kindness. We will certainly need to give all this and more to others in return. We are ready, willing, and able to give it our best shot.
The biggest thing this last year has taught me, while we can't always know exactly how to prepare for everything, we can endure anything that comes our way if we want to. We have to make up our minds to survive the best we can. This doesn't mean we will live through it all. It just means we will live the best we can, let the chips fall where they do, and not have any other expectations. This next year, we plan on living with the way things truly are, and not regret what isn't the way it's supposed to have been. We aren't going to waste precious time wishing things were different.
Hunting for hope is the best thing we could have ever done to be prepared for all the difficulties we have faced so far. We will keep on this path, because having hope along with love, faith, and serving others, has has proven to work extremely well. For all we know, this is exactly where and how we are supposed to be, cancer and all.
Whoa! That was a lot for one year. Maybe we can slow down a bit for the next one....
Monday, September 1, 2014
It's Offically Hunting Season
As our 8th month begins living with a brain tumor and deciphering what exactly is involved with that, I am reminded of several things.
First of all, February was brutal. Excruciating actually. As I stood there, screaming over my husband while he was having a Grand-Mal seizure, I kept thinking, "What if this is it? What if I never see him again?" I know I've said it before. But it was a big what if for me. In the 3 days we spent in the hospital, 2 of those days, the Scott I knew was not totally present. He did not recognize me. He did not recognize his own children. He knew he was in the hospital and did not want to be there. He knew he had to get out before someone told him he was never leaving. It was awful, gut-wrenching in fact. And then, just like that....he suddenly woke up. With the help of one of his best friends and reminders of the thing he loves to do most in this world, he was back.
Hunting...
They talked and talked about hunting trips, and the things they have seen and done. They discussed stuff that seemed unimportant and irrelevant to my life as I knew it. And yet, it was this very stuff that literally seemed to be bringing him back to his own consciousness. Maybe it was me just me or his wishful thinking, but I thought I could literally smell gunpowder in the air. The smiles, the laughter, and the genuine love radiating in that room that night, was phenomenal. Scott was somehow able to breathe into his own soul the very parts of life that give his own so much meaning. It was quite literally a miracle to me. But how could I have been so oblivious to the importance of hunting, in my husband's life? How could I not know it was the very thing he actually lives for? I had said it, in jest, but didn't actually know it was true until that very moment.
Hunting has been a source of a lot of contention in our home for many years. Not because I am against it, but because I simply did not get exactly what this really means to him. I saw hunting as a very expensive and time consuming distraction and a means to get away from the daily grind, to be a kid again and hide out in the woods and be naughty, without judgement or responsibility. I really viewed it as just a mancation with a reason to go out and kill something.
I didn't get it. Maybe because I'm not a man and I'm just not wired the same. I don't feel the need to stalk and kill something. I don't enjoy blood and guts. I'm perfectly fine with the evolution of the grocery store and all the conveniences of modern society. I like sleeping inside where it's temperature controlled, in a nice, soft, fluffy, comfy bed up off the ground. I like bathrooms that don't smell and are enclosed for my privacy. I like getting my food already prepared to cook and eat. Call me crazy or spoiled. I'm okay with it. I am probably the reason for all the problems of the modern world. I love the mall. I like shopping. I like the city, I'll have all of it please, with a side of lazy.
I can't help it. I am allergic to anything primitive. I did not camp or fish, or garden, or farm, or any of those things as a kid. I didn't learn to love or respect hunting it as a child and as an adult, I have been forced in a sense, to tolerate it. I have many reasons for being adverse to this whole "getting back to nature" thing. Not because these are not good things, but because I didn't recognize the significance and didn't have a reason to until now. It only took one night in the hospital with my husband and his friend, to literally erase all the ill will I had towards hunting and give me reason to be okay with getting back to basics.
Now, I want to fully comprehend what hunting is really all about. I need to understand why this was the thing that brought my husband back to us. As I was watching Scott and his brother Larry, pack up the truck to leave yesterday, it really hit me hard. I stood there, my eyes welling up with tears I could not control, thinking...this almost didn't happen. How miserable would he really be and how much worse of a situation would we have here, if he could never do this again? To loose a career is nothing in comparison to the thought of never being able to hunt again. "Just kill me" is his response to that.
I was overcome with gratitude that Scott was able to be packing his truck up and actually going on his annual hunting trip. My heart was overflowing that his brother would fly in just to go along and not to hunt himself. I could not hold back my emotions, although I tried really, really hard. Scott looked back at me once the truck was full and asked if I was okay. I said, "Oh yeah. My allergies are really bad today for some reason and my eyes won't stop watering this morning."
Larry gave me a look that said, "I'm onto you." But left it unsaid, which I'm grateful for. I didn't want my emotional state to take away from the excitement of what was happening. The anticipation seemed exhilarating to Scott and I literally saw him climbing from cloud to cloud, happily landing on about 6 or 7 as they pulled out of the driveway, knowing full well he would reach cloud 9 in full camo, wandering the woods, waiting to take his shot.
I could spend hours blogging about the trials of being a hunting widow. But for the life of me, I never thought I would actually find a reason to love this time of year and be grateful that Scott can be out hunting. He gets to do what he loves to do and that truly makes me happy for him. He never complains that I shop too much. He never says to me that I spend too much time looking at shoes online. He goes along with me when I drag him to "just look" although I know how much he dislikes it.
My husband tries to just let me be who I am and do whatever I want, whether that's shopping or building my business. He goes out of his way to do things for me to make my life easier. He doesn't intentionally make me feel like I have to ask for his approval or permission to do anything. I am so grateful for that. I need to be more like him in that way and the least I can do is support him in hunting. I do many other things for him too...but wholeheartedly giving a thumbs up to hunting was a big one for me. I finally can, just let him be and do what he loves... because in my mind, the chance is now. Life is too short not to do the things you love which gives you purpose. Hunting does not take away any of Scott's feelings or love for me. I wish I had understood this a lot sooner and without a brain tumor. But hey, some of us have to learn the hard way.
I titled this blog "Hunting for Hope" because Scott loves hunting and I've been hunting for years and didn't recognize it. I didn't know how many things it teaches us about life. Hunting gives purpose. Hunting forces preparedness and patience and many other things I take for granted on a daily basis. My husband and I had been hunting for different things, and then this tragic and life changing news gave us an opportunity to hunt together. Now days, we have far more similarities than we have differences. Things are not perfect, but we maintain the hope we will get through this together.
We're both forever scared by events that brought us here. We have a reason to cry, a reason to be sad, a reason to have others feel sorry for us. And yet, we have many more reasons to rejoice and celebrate. We do have cause to tell people, "Don't feel sorry." We hunt for hope daily and find it regularly.
Here's to hoping we can all find things to renew our sense of purpose, our reasons for living, or even just one more moment filled with the kind of joy that sends our souls searching for that feeling over and over again. I sincerely hope we can continue to find positive ways to wake up and come back to being conscious to the world as it "is" with a greater acceptance of who we really are and what we truly need.
I am genuinely happy to say my hunter is out hunting this week. I hope his efforts are rewarded in many meaningful ways. Even if we don't get a freezer full of meat....I will have a heart full of gratitude for the opportunity we both have had to understand more about what makes us happy and what it means to be fulfilled. I know we will continue to have sorrow and hard times. We will continue to fall and make mistakes. We might deal with illness for a long time to come. We might miss some great opportunities. We might risk it all and come away with less than we thought we should have.
But no matter what, we will come away from each experience more knowledgeable and with more understanding than we had before... and I think that just might be the entire point.
Happy Hunting!
First of all, February was brutal. Excruciating actually. As I stood there, screaming over my husband while he was having a Grand-Mal seizure, I kept thinking, "What if this is it? What if I never see him again?" I know I've said it before. But it was a big what if for me. In the 3 days we spent in the hospital, 2 of those days, the Scott I knew was not totally present. He did not recognize me. He did not recognize his own children. He knew he was in the hospital and did not want to be there. He knew he had to get out before someone told him he was never leaving. It was awful, gut-wrenching in fact. And then, just like that....he suddenly woke up. With the help of one of his best friends and reminders of the thing he loves to do most in this world, he was back.
Hunting...
They talked and talked about hunting trips, and the things they have seen and done. They discussed stuff that seemed unimportant and irrelevant to my life as I knew it. And yet, it was this very stuff that literally seemed to be bringing him back to his own consciousness. Maybe it was me just me or his wishful thinking, but I thought I could literally smell gunpowder in the air. The smiles, the laughter, and the genuine love radiating in that room that night, was phenomenal. Scott was somehow able to breathe into his own soul the very parts of life that give his own so much meaning. It was quite literally a miracle to me. But how could I have been so oblivious to the importance of hunting, in my husband's life? How could I not know it was the very thing he actually lives for? I had said it, in jest, but didn't actually know it was true until that very moment.
Hunting has been a source of a lot of contention in our home for many years. Not because I am against it, but because I simply did not get exactly what this really means to him. I saw hunting as a very expensive and time consuming distraction and a means to get away from the daily grind, to be a kid again and hide out in the woods and be naughty, without judgement or responsibility. I really viewed it as just a mancation with a reason to go out and kill something.
I didn't get it. Maybe because I'm not a man and I'm just not wired the same. I don't feel the need to stalk and kill something. I don't enjoy blood and guts. I'm perfectly fine with the evolution of the grocery store and all the conveniences of modern society. I like sleeping inside where it's temperature controlled, in a nice, soft, fluffy, comfy bed up off the ground. I like bathrooms that don't smell and are enclosed for my privacy. I like getting my food already prepared to cook and eat. Call me crazy or spoiled. I'm okay with it. I am probably the reason for all the problems of the modern world. I love the mall. I like shopping. I like the city, I'll have all of it please, with a side of lazy.
I can't help it. I am allergic to anything primitive. I did not camp or fish, or garden, or farm, or any of those things as a kid. I didn't learn to love or respect hunting it as a child and as an adult, I have been forced in a sense, to tolerate it. I have many reasons for being adverse to this whole "getting back to nature" thing. Not because these are not good things, but because I didn't recognize the significance and didn't have a reason to until now. It only took one night in the hospital with my husband and his friend, to literally erase all the ill will I had towards hunting and give me reason to be okay with getting back to basics.
Now, I want to fully comprehend what hunting is really all about. I need to understand why this was the thing that brought my husband back to us. As I was watching Scott and his brother Larry, pack up the truck to leave yesterday, it really hit me hard. I stood there, my eyes welling up with tears I could not control, thinking...this almost didn't happen. How miserable would he really be and how much worse of a situation would we have here, if he could never do this again? To loose a career is nothing in comparison to the thought of never being able to hunt again. "Just kill me" is his response to that.
I was overcome with gratitude that Scott was able to be packing his truck up and actually going on his annual hunting trip. My heart was overflowing that his brother would fly in just to go along and not to hunt himself. I could not hold back my emotions, although I tried really, really hard. Scott looked back at me once the truck was full and asked if I was okay. I said, "Oh yeah. My allergies are really bad today for some reason and my eyes won't stop watering this morning."
Larry gave me a look that said, "I'm onto you." But left it unsaid, which I'm grateful for. I didn't want my emotional state to take away from the excitement of what was happening. The anticipation seemed exhilarating to Scott and I literally saw him climbing from cloud to cloud, happily landing on about 6 or 7 as they pulled out of the driveway, knowing full well he would reach cloud 9 in full camo, wandering the woods, waiting to take his shot.
I could spend hours blogging about the trials of being a hunting widow. But for the life of me, I never thought I would actually find a reason to love this time of year and be grateful that Scott can be out hunting. He gets to do what he loves to do and that truly makes me happy for him. He never complains that I shop too much. He never says to me that I spend too much time looking at shoes online. He goes along with me when I drag him to "just look" although I know how much he dislikes it.
My husband tries to just let me be who I am and do whatever I want, whether that's shopping or building my business. He goes out of his way to do things for me to make my life easier. He doesn't intentionally make me feel like I have to ask for his approval or permission to do anything. I am so grateful for that. I need to be more like him in that way and the least I can do is support him in hunting. I do many other things for him too...but wholeheartedly giving a thumbs up to hunting was a big one for me. I finally can, just let him be and do what he loves... because in my mind, the chance is now. Life is too short not to do the things you love which gives you purpose. Hunting does not take away any of Scott's feelings or love for me. I wish I had understood this a lot sooner and without a brain tumor. But hey, some of us have to learn the hard way.
I titled this blog "Hunting for Hope" because Scott loves hunting and I've been hunting for years and didn't recognize it. I didn't know how many things it teaches us about life. Hunting gives purpose. Hunting forces preparedness and patience and many other things I take for granted on a daily basis. My husband and I had been hunting for different things, and then this tragic and life changing news gave us an opportunity to hunt together. Now days, we have far more similarities than we have differences. Things are not perfect, but we maintain the hope we will get through this together.
We're both forever scared by events that brought us here. We have a reason to cry, a reason to be sad, a reason to have others feel sorry for us. And yet, we have many more reasons to rejoice and celebrate. We do have cause to tell people, "Don't feel sorry." We hunt for hope daily and find it regularly.
Here's to hoping we can all find things to renew our sense of purpose, our reasons for living, or even just one more moment filled with the kind of joy that sends our souls searching for that feeling over and over again. I sincerely hope we can continue to find positive ways to wake up and come back to being conscious to the world as it "is" with a greater acceptance of who we really are and what we truly need.
I am genuinely happy to say my hunter is out hunting this week. I hope his efforts are rewarded in many meaningful ways. Even if we don't get a freezer full of meat....I will have a heart full of gratitude for the opportunity we both have had to understand more about what makes us happy and what it means to be fulfilled. I know we will continue to have sorrow and hard times. We will continue to fall and make mistakes. We might deal with illness for a long time to come. We might miss some great opportunities. We might risk it all and come away with less than we thought we should have.
But no matter what, we will come away from each experience more knowledgeable and with more understanding than we had before... and I think that just might be the entire point.
Happy Hunting!
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
The Harvest
Hunting is continual. Each part has it's time and place. We are in
the harvest now. We found the hope we needed for this moment and are
devouring the parts we need today, and storing up the rest for use at a
later time. We've found enough to get us through this season, until the
next. We don't know when the next season will be exactly, but we know it
will come and we will need to be prepared.
One way my hunter prepares is by first taking his camo out of the bag and hanging it outside in a pine tree. He says that's to get the scent of humans off of it and to let it take on the scent of the out doors. How often do we do that with our thoughts and emotions? This emotional camo is something we need. But how do we use it? Do we pull it straight on out of the bag smelling of fear and frustration? Or do we keep them safely guarded away where no one can see or hurt them, only to have them jaded and unable to relate to others when needed?
Camo has a purpose in hunting. It hides the hunter so he can get close enough to take his prey. Emotional camo is required when we don't yet understand for ourselves how to act or react in a new situation. We may need to put on a cloak of happiness, love, honesty, comfort...whatever it is, so that we can get close enough to hope to grab it up and take it when we need it, instead of fending it off with our fear and negativity.
It is a very deliberate action that doesn't just happen on it's own. We have to be aware that getting our emotions out, and helping them to air, is only part of it. We then have to be willing to put them on and wear them once they've been changed. If we simply keep hanging them out, nothings happens. If we take them out and then put them all back, we don't get what we need.
I prepared my emotional camo by letting my feelings out and sharing them here with others. Not because I wanted kudos, but because it helped me put into perspective what I was really looking for. Had I not took that camo out of the bag and let it take on the right emotions, I could have gone off in whole other direction that would have led me away from where I wanted to be. I was able to get the scent of fear and anger off, and take in a new sense of acceptance and support.
I would not have been able to do this alone, ever. Not because I didn't want to, but because I simply didn't yet know how to accept the help others have offered. I'm learning as I go and it's okay to do that. I've been able to cast off some of my fear of the unknown future and let in the present. With that came a whole lot of people who reached out to express their love and support. I would not have known or felt the comfort that came, had I not been able to express myself appropriately.
As I continue to search my feelings and share my thoughts, things come to me that I have always known. I am loved. I am valued. I am strong enough, good enough. I have courage. I can conquer my fears. I know each soul has purpose and is worth more than I can imagine to the One who created us. I am not perfect. There is much more to learn than I can ever possibly learn on my own. I need others to help me along the way.
I seem to forget these things over and over and have to be reminded over and over. My humanness gets in the way of perfection. Someone with much greater knowledge than I, knew it would be this way for everyone. Hope is not something we create. It just is. It's an eternal truth, just like love. Here for anyone who knows how to find it and use it.
My hunter doesn't create the animals he hunts. They exist outside of him and in spite of him. It is the same with hope. It was created by the Source of All and will continue to exist in spite of our inability to hang on to it. Just the way my hunter has to keep finding new ways to hunt and I have to keep finding new ways to hope. Life is ever changing. It will not stop for him or for me.
I am not sure exactly how any of this is going to play out for us. I am just beginning to understand hope has always lived here. The harvest is the shortest time of all in hunting. We need to enjoy it while it lasts, and begin to prepare the way for the next season to be successful. The work of hope is never ending if you want to have it when you need it.
One way my hunter prepares is by first taking his camo out of the bag and hanging it outside in a pine tree. He says that's to get the scent of humans off of it and to let it take on the scent of the out doors. How often do we do that with our thoughts and emotions? This emotional camo is something we need. But how do we use it? Do we pull it straight on out of the bag smelling of fear and frustration? Or do we keep them safely guarded away where no one can see or hurt them, only to have them jaded and unable to relate to others when needed?
Camo has a purpose in hunting. It hides the hunter so he can get close enough to take his prey. Emotional camo is required when we don't yet understand for ourselves how to act or react in a new situation. We may need to put on a cloak of happiness, love, honesty, comfort...whatever it is, so that we can get close enough to hope to grab it up and take it when we need it, instead of fending it off with our fear and negativity.
It is a very deliberate action that doesn't just happen on it's own. We have to be aware that getting our emotions out, and helping them to air, is only part of it. We then have to be willing to put them on and wear them once they've been changed. If we simply keep hanging them out, nothings happens. If we take them out and then put them all back, we don't get what we need.
I prepared my emotional camo by letting my feelings out and sharing them here with others. Not because I wanted kudos, but because it helped me put into perspective what I was really looking for. Had I not took that camo out of the bag and let it take on the right emotions, I could have gone off in whole other direction that would have led me away from where I wanted to be. I was able to get the scent of fear and anger off, and take in a new sense of acceptance and support.
I would not have been able to do this alone, ever. Not because I didn't want to, but because I simply didn't yet know how to accept the help others have offered. I'm learning as I go and it's okay to do that. I've been able to cast off some of my fear of the unknown future and let in the present. With that came a whole lot of people who reached out to express their love and support. I would not have known or felt the comfort that came, had I not been able to express myself appropriately.
As I continue to search my feelings and share my thoughts, things come to me that I have always known. I am loved. I am valued. I am strong enough, good enough. I have courage. I can conquer my fears. I know each soul has purpose and is worth more than I can imagine to the One who created us. I am not perfect. There is much more to learn than I can ever possibly learn on my own. I need others to help me along the way.
I seem to forget these things over and over and have to be reminded over and over. My humanness gets in the way of perfection. Someone with much greater knowledge than I, knew it would be this way for everyone. Hope is not something we create. It just is. It's an eternal truth, just like love. Here for anyone who knows how to find it and use it.
My hunter doesn't create the animals he hunts. They exist outside of him and in spite of him. It is the same with hope. It was created by the Source of All and will continue to exist in spite of our inability to hang on to it. Just the way my hunter has to keep finding new ways to hunt and I have to keep finding new ways to hope. Life is ever changing. It will not stop for him or for me.
I am not sure exactly how any of this is going to play out for us. I am just beginning to understand hope has always lived here. The harvest is the shortest time of all in hunting. We need to enjoy it while it lasts, and begin to prepare the way for the next season to be successful. The work of hope is never ending if you want to have it when you need it.
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