Writing through the Pain

Some of you know that earlier this year I contributed a chapter in the anthology, Deserts to Mountaintops the Pilgrimage of Motherhood, led by Jessica Buchanan. As part of that process, our author cohort met periodically to learn about the memoir writing process. One thing that always stuck with me was that one cannot write from a place that is not healed.

This thought has been on my mind over the last several weeks. Many times I have wanted to share updates on Caden, but I alway stop short, and I think it is because we are very much still in this season of battling and hoping for a future that doesn’t involve cancer and chemo and doctor appointments. I’m so grateful that for the most part, life is normal, or at least from the outside looking in. Caden goes to school, he participates in clubs, he hangs out with friends, he attends church and youth group, all while taking his laundry list of daily medications, doing weekly lab draws, and attending clinic visits in Seattle. Every 8 weeks or so he receives outpatient chemo, and this has just become our normal.

Every now and then however, I am struck by the thought that this life is anything but normal. My mind will wander to something totally mundane, and then like a tether tied to my heart, I am yanked back to reality. Chemo should never be normal, a handful of pills each morning for a 14 year old should never be normal. Scheduling the next bone marrow biopsy, like one might schedule a dental cleaning, shouldn’t be normal. While I don’t feel like we are in fight or flight mode, I do feel my nervous system is perpetually on high alert, because in the back of my mind I am always wondering what comes next? What will life look like in 6 months? Will this ever end? Oftentimes I lie in bed at night, and despite the fact there is nothing urgent happening or needing my attention, I find my heart racing, and my mind screaming. During the day I can occupy myself with work, and kids, and house chores, but at night, when everything gets quiet, my anxiety gets loud.

I don’t have any grand solution to this, no way to tie this up in a pretty bow. The only thing I know to do is run to Jesus. I pray my fears. I repeat scripture. I think about how many times in the Bible God commands us not to be afraid. It’s not a suggestion, it’s not just something to try for fun. He commands this of his followers. If God is my father, I must obey him. I have not achieved this by any stretch of the imagination, I only share what I’m actively working on, in case it may help someone else out there who is in a battle that seems never ending.

Practicing gratitude is another tactic that helps me shift my focus when I feel the weight of pediatric cancer pulling me under. There is so much that I am thankful for. I’m thankful we’ve been able to do treatment outpatient this entire time, I’m thankful that Caden continues to feel good and maintain his energy even when he should be exhausted. I’m thankful for all the family dinners we get to share together, and all of the memories we continue to make. I’m thankful for a husband who partners with me and holds me up on my hardest days. I’m thankful for extended family who are always willing to help out, I’m thankful for a church family who prays for Caden continually.

Like I said, I don’t have a happy ending to share right now. I trust one day we will be on the other side of this experience, and I will be able to write from a place that is fully healed. Until then, I appreciate those who are patient as I process my thoughts through the pain.