Spaghetti and Survival

There are days where I look in the mirror and I don’t know who the reflection is staring back at me. That feeling first came over me after I brushed my hand through my hair and a clump of my long brown locks sat in the palm of my hand. Truth is, some days I have a hard time distinguishing between the two periods of my life - Before Cancer and After Cancer. Some days I actually have a hard time even remembering that there was a time in my life where cancer wasn’t a part of my every day. Then there are days where I try to recollect the memories during my diagnosis and treatments and I can’t remember a damn thing. They tell me that repressing memories is a symptom of PTSD which I now suffer from.

It’s been six years since I was told “You have cancer.” Six years of tears and triumphs. Six years of gaining relationships and losing friends to the same disease that also tried to take my life. Six years of memories and heartache. You truly don’t realize how time can go so fast but so slow at the same time until you face a life-changing obstacle.

January 18th, 2012 was the day my life changed forever. The year prior I had been in and out of hospitals trying to figure out what was ‘wrong’ with me. I was suffering from what everyone thought and what each doctor was diagnosing as gallbladder attacks. It was true that I was suffering from severe pain because I did indeed have gallstones, but that wasn’t what was causing me to be sick.

I remember January 17th so clearly. I had to skip a few classes at MUN (my university at the time) because I had an ultrasound appointment on my abdomen to see how many gallstones I had. Nothing to it. Simple. As I laid on the table and the technician circled my stomach and took the pictures, I watched the computer screen. As she moved towards the lower left side of my abdomen, I noticed there was something different on the screen--a lump, maybe? ‘Okay, Sam, don’t freak out,’ I thought to myself.

The technician explained how she had to go and get a doctor to show the pictures to. At that moment, I knew something was up. My mother was actually in the room with me and I could tell she was concerned. Technicians don’t just up and leave to go get the doctor. I had enough tests done in the past year and a bit to know that’s not how those things work.

When she came back into the room with the doctor, she showed him the computer screen and they talked in medical lingo as if trying not to make whatever was wrong obvious. The doctor said a few words and left the room. The technician explained that my family doctor would let me know the results when she got the report.

The next day (January 18th), I went to classes just like any other regular day. I had midterms approaching and passing them was the main thing on my mind. I tried to push aside the fact that my ultrasound the day before was kind of strange, but I thought if anything was terribly wrong, they would have let me know right away.

Later that afternoon as I got home from MUN, my mother called asking if I wanted to go to my sister’s in Torbay for supper. My parents were in the city for a few days so I agreed to have supper with them that evening.

Once supper time came around, I packed up a few of my textbooks and notes in a bag. I knew I would be down to my sister’s for a few hours, so a little bit of studying amongst hanging out with family wouldn’t hurt. I was set on getting good marks on my midterms.

Once I got to Torbay and sat around the table and ate supper, I could tell there was a weird vibe. Mom had made spaghetti for me because it was my favorite food (after this day I can safely say I’m no longer crazy about spaghetti). My sister just looked at Mom and said, “Are you going to tell her?”

“Tell me what?” I asked.

“The doctor called and explained that you have gallstones but they found something else. She explained it as a calcified mass in your abdomen,” Mom said.

“What does that mean?” I questioned, puzzled. Obviously, I knew it wasn’t a great thing to hear.

“It means it could be cancer!” my sister responded.

The conversation continued about what my doctors said--this is not the post or time to bore you with such medical jargon. Long story short, it turned out to be cancer, and a weird cancer at that. I was diagnosed with Neuroblastoma, a rare pediatric cancer that usually only happens in children, but I was one of the handful of people in the world to be diagnosed as an adult. Yay, lucky me! *sarcastic eye roll*

My cancer story is a long one with a lot of ups and downs. Honestly, I was high on drugs for the majority of it and I truthfully can’t remember much (or maybe it’s the repression of memories, or chemo brain, whichever). Sadly, after my first diagnosis, I relapsed again only ten months later. I remember coming home from the gym (where I spent the majority of my free time and to this day, it is my safe haven) and my mother standing in the kitchen just staring at me. I knew something was up and that was when she told me that my oncologist called and my cancer was back with avengence.

I underwent a long and difficult protocol to get my disease under control. Neuroblastoma’s treatment plan hasn’t changed in years, so I was being treated the same as an infant. This is something I absolutely do not stand by--I am not a child, therefore I shouldn’t have the same treatment as one and there should be more done for adults who are diagnosed with pediatric cancers, but that’s for another blog post.

Chemotherapy both inpatient and outpatient, surgeries, travelling to different parts of the province for different treatments, radiation, stem cell harvesting, a stem cell/bone marrow transplant, immunizations, sickness, bone pain, hair loss, infertility, losing my hearing, tinnitus, seeing friends pass away from cancer, bone marrow biopsies...the list goes on and on. That was my life and as much as I don’t want to admit, it very much still is my life.

There are countless stories I could tell you of things that have happened over the last six years and I’m sure one day I will get those stories out on paper. But for now, I’ll leave you with this--cherish every breath you take. Even the worst days only have 24 hours and you can make it through them. There were many days over the last six years that I thought would be my last. I actually remember one night, lying beside my mother, telling her I was ready to go. I literally could feel my heart slowing and I thought I was moments away from leaving this planet forever, but somehow, I’m still here, surviving every single day, and I’m here to tell you, so can you. No matter what you’re going through, however big or small the mountains are that you must climb, you can overcome them. There will be times in your life where you are at your wits end and you cannot take anymore but you have to muster every ounce of courage inside that amazing little heart of yours and make it through ‘til tomorrow. There will come a time when all your battles and all your heartache will be over and you will be so happy you pushed yourself to keep going. Whether you are battling a physical illness, mental illness, addictions, going through an abusive relationship, or just feel lost, there is a reason you are on this earth and one day you will find happiness.

Love completely, forgive entirely, and live graciously. Remember, you are wonderful. You are powerful. And you are stronger than ANY obstacle life throws your way, cancer or not.

So, here’s to January 18th, 2018. Six years later and I’m still alive. I’m still trying to find my ‘new normal.’ I’m not even sure what my ‘new normal’ is or if I’ll ever find it. But for now, I’m learning how to survive day to day and attempting to learn how to enjoy spaghetti again.