The Gift of Awareness *originally published May 2017

Last summer, before radiation started but after the surgery that removed half of my tongue and replaced it with an artery and part of my wrist, I made myself go to a company picnic.

I both couldn’t wait to see everyone and was so scared to do so at the same time. So much was different since I saw most of them two months before. A cancer diagnosis and surgery changed me dramatically in a short period of time.

Of course, there was the obvious physical aspect – with half of a “real” tongue and half a constructed one, speech and eating abilities were, shall we say, extremely hindered.

I was almost six weeks post op that removed stage 2 cancer from my mouth for the third time in 7 years, as well as having lymph nodes from my neck removed. Physically, I was a mess.

Mentally, I was worse.

I had heard tons of horror stories about radiation to the head and neck, both from fellow patients as well as doctors and nurses alike. It felt like I was walking straight into some twisted 6 week torture session. The process was described as brutal, the lasting side effects, frankly, scared the shit out of me.

Radiation was to start the next week.

I was living in my own private hell – the only thing I could see in front of me was fear.

And at the picnic, I heard something that made it worse. Something I’ve heard time and again since, and it always made me angry and cringe at the reality.

“Wow, you are so brave,” a friend offered, “my teenage daughter sees how you struggle with talking and eating, and she whispered to me she is so grateful that what she goes through isn’t as bad as what you have.”

And there you have it. I was the person that made others say a mental prayer when they crossed my path –thankful that it was me instead of them. In the past, it was me who thought similarly and now I found myself on the other side of that.

That didn’t feel too good.

I know my friend and her daughter meant well, but I became so angry that I was unwillingly put in this position of being an example. And, I certainly never felt brave during my cancer journey. Not one lick of it.

I wanted to kick and scream that I wasn’t brave! That I am not a positive example for anyone! That it wasn’t fair that I was dealt this as part of my journey! But instead, I think I nodded and smiled and pretended to graciously accept what my friend meant to be a compliment.

It took me months after my cancer treatments were over for me to understand why I was so angry.

I just wanted to be normal.

I wanted to be on the other side looking in, not on the scary side looking out. What I’ve come to discover for myself through my journey, is that there is no such thing as normal -ever. We all stand out in our own way, and I’ve embraced what I’ve went through as just another part of my spiritual growth.

Life is sometimes harder on the other side of cancer, but it’s also sweeter, slower, and gentler – if you let it. Releasing what I considered normal has helped me embrace so many things every day that I’ve just dabbled in experiencing before.

My “new normal” consists of acknowledging, accepting and releasing anger, fear and frustration.

It includes daily gratitude for little things:

A blue sky,

A white sandy beach,

Birds chirping.

Knowing that I’ve touched another’s life in a positive way.

Knowing that my journey has a purpose, that I was brought through this not to just be normal, but to embrace the gifts I have within and release them without fear to help others. There’s something extraordinary about being able to do that.

So to my friend’s daughter – thank you for giving me the gift of awareness. She’s right – things could always be worse, but the key is to embrace your journey for the lessons it will give you. Not easy to do in the moment – for sure – but so powerful on the other side.

And that’s the other side I choose.