The Day I Stopped Being Afraid

Imagine if in an instant, every fear you ever had suddenly disappeared.  Everything that used to frighten you crumbles into a specks of dust so small you no longer recognize them as anything remotely resembling a threat.  

My name is Deanna.  I am 36 years old. 

I used to be afraid of spiders.

I used to be afraid of earthworms.

I used to be afraid of public speaking.  

August 12, 2015 was the day I stopped being afraid of all these things.  I was working from home, recovering from what I thought was a precautionary surgery to remove a swollen lymph node in my neck.  Then the telephone rang. 

I clawed the air reaching for my husband’s hand as the doctor read the diagnosis: Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

I hung up the phone, looked up into his eyes and asked him, “What in the world was I afraid of yesterday?”

Hodgkin's isn't usually fatal, even if you're Stage 4, which my PET Scan revealed that I am.  It's treatable with a standard formula of Chemotherapy drugs.  It's a twelve part regimen spanning twenty-four weeks.  I'm currently on week six, in between my third and fourth round.  I'm constipated, half-bald, and immuno-compromised.  

But I am not afraid. 

I don’t kill spiders anymore, not even if I find them in my house.  I understand now how desperately all creatures cling to life.  

I don’t run when an earthworm brushes my hand in the garden.  The slimy contact is nothing next to having a section of your hip bone pulled out through a six inch needle.  

I’m no longer afraid of speaking in public or of speaking my mind.  The harmless opinions of others are simply no longer scary compared to having your own body try to destroy itself from the inside out, of watching every strand of your hair slide down the bathtub drain, of knowing, no matter how much faith you pretend you have, that there is a chance the Chemotherapy isn’t going to work.  

Well, let's not end it there.  I really do believe I'm going to be alright.  I'm not going to die from this.  I can't; I have too much to do. I don't have time to have cancer.  I have a day job, a family, hobbies, plans for the future, places I still need to visit.  My novel isn't finished yet. 

I will not end my story here.  I will not be defeated by the mutation of a few rogue cell divisions.  I will not put my life on pause while I am being treated.  I will not sit alone in a dark room with my cancer.  I will attend every event that I want to during the course of my treatment.  I won't stay home because my hair looks thin, or because people might stare at me in my face mask or because my mother is worried without reason.  I will do everything I want, and all that makes me happy because I don't know if I have time to do it later.  I believe I will, but I don't know.  

The truth is, none of us know.  You don't need a cancer diagnosis to realize that death is unpredictable, though it sure is a good reminder.  We don't know how much time we're going to have.  I believe I have a lot more, but I'm going to do what I want as soon as I get the opportunity, just in case.  

I advise you to do the same.  

Speaking  of advice, anytime any doctor runs a panel on your blood for any reason, get yourself a copy of that report and read it.  Follow up with proactivity bordering in obnoxiousness on anything that is even remotely abnormal.  I could have caught this earlier if I was more aware.  

Stay tuned for future posts including such exciting topics as, "Cute Hats," "Getting a Second Opinion - Biggest Pain in the Butt Ever," "Deanna & The Giant SCI-FI Syringe" and "If Every Hair On My Head Falls Out Except The One On My Chin I'm Gonna Hafta Light Something On Fire."