Chapter 100: Fear, you are not welcome here
This week has been a difficult one for me. It’s the start of my third spring with brain cancer. While I welcome the incredible beauty of flowers blooming, sun shining, and people emerging from a long winter, I also feel deeply unsettled.
As I’ve reflected on this feeling, I’ve asked myself a lot of “why.” Why can’t I enjoy the moment, a concept I’ve tried so hard to practice? Why can’t I celebrate my successes? Why have I found it hard to connect with people lately?
I think the answer is simple: Fear. When I was first given my diagnosis of anaplastic astrocytoma, I asked about my prognosis. This was a stupid question, because I know logically that statistics are just numbers and reflect very little about the ever-changing human body and spirit. I also know that cancer statistics are based on outdated information: studies published about lifespan look at the numbers of people who have died. This is old news. People who are still living, taking new treatments, reaching new milestones are not the yet built into those statistics. Despite all that, I asked for these statistics shortly after my diagnosis and the answer I received was “Everyone is different, but average is 3-5 years.” Yikes. That one hurt.
I recovered from that initial shock and felt a fire burning under me, kicking me into high speed to live my short life with fierce intention. I feel I’ve done a decent job of that over the past 2.5 years. I wrote a fairly successful blog, I wrote Difficult Gifts which recently won two prestigious book awards (IPPY silver medalist for “Best First Book of Nonfiction” and Midwest Book Awards finalist- silver vs gold, stay tuned- for “Memoir”). I started speaking publicly- first at local events and then at national events hosted by names I can’t even believe I’ve had the opportunity to interact with. I finished medical residency, started my medical career in primary care, and recently decided (after much deliberation) to transition my career to hospital medicine (a job I’ve dreamed about for years). I went through an amicable divorce and shortly thereafter met the love of my life, who wants to marry me (how cool is that?!) this fall. My partner and I bought a dream house, we have two loving dogs, and we’ve traveled to three countries and countless states in the past year alone. Simply put, I’ve stayed busy.
But then, I hit a milestone: year three. Year three of my diagnosis, the first year that falls into that dreaded, shitty statistic. My mindfulness, my calm, my ability to carpe diem started to crumble under me. Despite my hope for a longer life, despite my knowledge that I feel great and have had clear scans, I started to let Fear take over.
I did not recognize Fear at first. Fear crept in slowly, like a grey cloud that looks harmless but builds in intensity until it produces thunderous rain. Fear was a little cloud in the back of my mind until this weekend, when the metaphorical rain started.
This past weekend was the MN Brain Tumor 5K, an annual event I’m very passionate about. This was my third event. In the past, I’ve run this 5K with friends and family. People near and far have joined in virtually, sending photos and cheering us on. This year, a few loving friends and family members joined in, but the crew was sparse. This is no one’s fault but perhaps my own. I’ve been distant. I’ve been living with fear and instead of writing, sharing, creating the safe vulnerable space on this blog that I’ve used so often in the past, I stayed in my gloomy rain cloud, afraid and alone.
As many people facing chronic illness (physical and mental) will tell you, as time goes by, support falls away. This is normal. As we live longer, seemingly healthy lives, there is no obvious need for constant support from others.
Every day is a new opportunity to enjoy time we’re not promised, but every day is also one step closer to the scary statistics we face. There are many moments I would like to talk about my fears, my hope and longing for normalcy, but I keep quiet. Who wants to hear about this again? Why am I burdening others with my own fears?
This negative mindset is not helpful. It isolates us even further. I know this. But, a gloomy rain cloud mind holds onto those negative thoughts. It takes Fear and allows it to grow bigger, darker, more ominous until the sky is dark overhead.
I ran that 5K on my own. It was slow and required much walking. But I did it. Despite year three, this worrying year, I can still use my legs. I can still make it this far. Not everyone is so lucky.
My wonderful fiancé returned home after a weekend trip to face the wrath of Courtney. To my parents and my ex, if you’re reading this, you surely *can’t even imagine* what this is…
Something about this 5K, this solo event, made Fear so strong that I had no control over it. Everything upset me. Nothing my partner said could possibly be right, good enough, loving enough. I was thunderous and Fear won. Fear did nothing, absolutely nothing, to help me. It isolated me further, left me feeling upset at myself, and upset the man I love as well. Stupid Fear.
Fear is hardwired. It’s part of our fight or flight. Sometimes it’s helpful, when we need to outrun a bear. Most of the time, it’s unnecessary.
As I reflect this morning, a mantra often taught by the greatly loved Thich Nhat Hanh pops into my head:
Darling, I am suffering. Please help.
I’ve decided to use this mantra and share this mantra. I shared this mantra with my partner. I write this blog to share this mantra with the world. Sharing our suffering is the best strategy I know to break apart the cloudy, stormy sky in our minds. I am not the only one who suffers. When I share my suffering, I do so with the intention that others facing similar situations will feel less alone in their suffering. When we suffer alone, we cannot see the clear blue sky hiding above our Fear clouds. Together, sharing our suffering, feeling compassion for those who are suffering too, we have the power to break the storm apart and let sun shine once again.
Today, I look Fear in the face and say: you are no longer welcome or needed here.
Whether I have three years or sixty, I hope to live each with a clear, sunny sky mind. One that is not only open to receiving love and compassion, but one that can give it out in return.
Plus, when fear wins, you don’t get to experience things like parasailing above the Pacific! Highly recommend!
Fondly,
Courtney
© CB2022
PS: Thank you to all those who joined in for this years MN Brain Tumor 5K. Your donations, words of encouragement, and participation continue to mean a lot to me.
PPS: Chapter 100?! There can’t possibly be anyone still reading this. Thank you :)