Two years

Chris Lynds
Diagnosed at: Age 40
Diagnosis: Infiltrating Ductal Carcinoma, one positive lymph node
Treatment: Modified Radical Mastectomy, Chemotherapy, Tamoxifen
Occupation: Training Specialist

It has been almost two years since I found a lump in my breast. Two years since my life changed forever. Two years of learning about cancer treatments. Two years of getting an education that I never signed up for. Two years of finding my own strength while learning to lean on others. Two years of crying every tear my tired eyes could produce. Two years of discovering that some of the humor that makes me laugh the hardest is the stuff that comes from a dark place. Two years of appreciating things I overlooked before. Two years of letting go of what is not important.

I probably don’t look much different to the world. I have a new, shorter hairstyle. My prosthesis gives the illusion that all of my body parts are intact. Artificially induced menopause and daily doses of Tamoxifen have made my skin a bit drier, my waist a bit thicker and my temper a bit shorter. No one except the person living inside this body really knows how much I’ve changed.

I was one of the lucky ones. I had a lot of support from family and friends. But not all of the people who started on this journey with me were able to hang in for the long haul. And some of the people who helped me the most were an unexpected surprise.

My cancer was treated by a team of capable and experienced doctors. My soul was treated by a group of women who had one scary but bonding thing in common: we all had cancer. Joining a support group was probably the most beneficial and important step I took towards healing. My Bosom Buddies (as we call ourselves) are the only people who I feel really understand what I’ve been through. My participation in a dragon boat team of breast cancer thrivers makes me feel safe, that there is life after breast cancer.

My life has changed so much, yet so many things are the same, that sometimes it feels surreal. I still go to work every day, I still forget to take out the garbage, I still spend too much time in front of the TV. Yet always in the back of my head is the anxious feeling that I should be doing something important, that somehow on this wild roller coaster ride that I’ve been on these last two years I should have discovered the ‘true purpose’ of my life.

I have not.

What I have discovered is that everything is temporary. Happiness, grief, joy and heartache – it’s all temporary. I always knew that even life itself is temporary. But now I REALLY know it.

Whether you’ve been diagnosed with cancer, or have never been sick a day in your life, we’re all in the same boat, headed in the same direction. To the business person who boards a plane with a faulty engine, to the lonely old man sitting on the porch of an old-age home, to the active young woman who has an appointment today for a mammogram, to those of us living everyday with the hope that our cancer will never return – statistics don’t matter. However bad your prognosis is, there are many seemingly healthy people that you will outlive.

Cancer or no cancer – expensive cars, grand houses, and huge bank accounts can’t save us from the inevitable. All we have is this minute, right here, right now.

I wish I could say that I’m living this minute to the fullest. For now, it’s enough that I’m living this minute. I’m still working on the ‘fullest’.