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Starting Over

How Cancer Changed Me

By Bethany OrrPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
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During chemo, EVERYTHING changes....

Three words you never want to hear... "You have cancer."

Those three words will change everything in your life. They can make you better, or they can make you insane. How you handle it will determine which way it goes. Have you ever heard the song from Tim McGraw, "Live Like You Were Dying?" For me, it was just a good song...for a while. But when I got that diagnosis and heard that song, my entire world spun off its axis. Everything was suddenly different in vivid ways. I knew that I had one last shot to make life matter.

The first thing I did was call my mom and cry. I cried, she cried, and for some reason, I apologized more than once. On some level, I knew this would have a massive impact on both of us, but I knew that my mom, being who she was as a lifelong pediatric nurse, would give up anything and everything in her life to make sure I got what I needed, and that meant putting everything in HER life on hold.

Fast forward one week, and I was headed to her house for the first of many, many doctors' appointments, visits, tests, and treatments. I got to her house, and unloaded my bags from the car. I carried them upstairs and unpacked while we talked about what my schedule was for the next day. I had packed enough clothes for several days because I had no idea how long I would be staying for this trip, but I knew that my course of treatment would be lengthy.

Once I finished unpacking, we went downstairs and sat on the couch. I was tired from the trip and weight of everything washed over me. The dam broke. Tears welled up and I suddenly couldn't say anything. My mom reached over and pulled me closer on the couch, and I sobbed. Even at 42 years old, I still needed my mom, and even now, she knew exactly what to do to comfort me. She just held me and quietly let me cry, stroking my hair while I laid my head in her lap. Nothing needed to be said. She just rubbed my back, and ran her hands over my hair.

In my head, I knew it was only a matter of time before I would have no hair left to stroke. I also knew that my mom wouldn't be around forever, and that I was going to soak in every second of time with her. This road would be hard, but I was determined not to let cancer rule every moment of my time with her. I sat up, hugged her, and told her I loved her... and I apologized again. I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, or deserving of needing to apologize, but I knew it had to hurt her. And I knew one thing I got from her was the need to apologize when it wasn't really your fault, and there isn't anything you can do to change whatever you're apologizing for.

Over the next few days, many more tears were shed, but we both worked hard to make happy moments. We spent more time baking together than we had in years. We had more discussions about life, family, parenting, and marriage than I think I've had in all my adult years, not because she wasn't willing, but because I was "too busy" and didn't make the time to call. I knew that if I came through this alive, that was going to change. One vow made; I would call my mom MUCH more often.

That wasn't the only thing, either. Every night, no matter how tired I was, I called my family at home on FaceTime. I made an effort to talk to both of my daughters and my husband, no matter how much dead airtime we spent, finding out how their school days went and what they were doing in my absence. More tears were shed when we got off the call. I missed them terribly, and they would hug the phone at the end of our calls. No child should ever have to hug a phone... ever. One more vow; my children would get a hug every night when I got home.

By National Cancer Institute on Unsplash

After my surgeries and chemo, my body changed drastically. Weight gain, hair loss, new allergies to things I loved, even my showering habits, thanks to drains and skin problems. Scars, now a permanent reminder of what I was going through and would never go away, were something I didn't want to let anyone see. Infections became commonplace. Medications became a daily occurrence. Steroids drove my body to eat, but I didn't want to put weight on. One more vow; my body will be mine again, and I will take better care of it.

Radiation came after chemo. The treatments were painless, but nothing is more frustrating than having 20-plus stickers on your body that you can't remove, while you're laying on a hard table in a cold room, naked from the waist up with your arms above your head, while radiation techs line you up, pull you around, reposition you, draw on you, and then tell you not to move while you lie there, freezing from the cold, and shivering from anxiety and stress coursing through you. The first session took over an hour, and by the time we were finished, my hands were numb from cold. I burst into tears on the techs, who were sympathetic, but felt awful and again apologized for doing so. One more vow; STOP APOLOGIZING.

By National Cancer Institute on Unsplash

Treatment took place over the course of nine months. Three surgeries, three infections, two spinal biopsies, four breast biopsies, eight chemotherapy treatments, 20 radiation therapy sessions, a hundred tests, and a million tears. Part of me feels like I should be glowing green from all the radiation, between the CT scans, bone scans, PET scans, radiation treatments, and x-rays done, never mind the mammograms. Over that nine months, I made many decisions, learned more than I ever cared to learn about cancer treatment, and I don't even remember the time between my surgeries because of all the drugs.

But I did make one major decision.

From now on, life will happen with no regrets. No longer will I deny myself a pleasure simply because I don't think I deserve it. I won't be giving up what I don't want to give up. My body will be mine, and no one else will touch it unless I want them to, but I will also take care of it like I should have in the past. More time eating right. More time moving, exercising, because it helps me be more present with those I love. More time spent with my family. More time feeding into ME, because it helps me feed into others. More time spent with my mom, because she won't be around forever.

That girl putting on the brave face in the first picture may not have felt what she was showing. And she sure didn't show what she was feeling. But that is one strong woman, who knows what life is truly about now. That is a woman who used to think she was a wimp for crying, and not being braver during treatment. That is a woman who stared cancer in the face and defeated it. That is a woman who found out that there is SO much more to life than "stuff" and work. That is a woman who learned that the important things in life aren't just things. That is also a woman who hopes you never have to find out the way she did.

Live life strong. No regrets. Don't let fear rule your life. And DON'T let anyone tell you that you shouldn't do something that you would enjoy, or that you aren't smart enough, strong enough, or brave enough... and DEFINITELY don't let them tell you you're not good enough.

And that, my friends, is how cancer changed me.

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About the Creator

Bethany Orr

Born in Michigan, raised in North Carolina, and now I’m an East Tennessee mom of two girls. I’ve been a mechanic, a truck driver, and a musician, with a passion for cars and music. I’m a breast cancer survisor and advocate!

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