As a cancer patient and now as a survivor, my mortality is usually front and center in my mind. I don’t like that and I don’t like things that bring it front and center. Last month, I met virtually with another genetic counselor after spending a few months digging around my genetic family tree, searching for familial causes of death. There was quite a bit of “oh shit, is that a genetic one?” The first time I met with one, was at the start of my diagnosis, before having any surgeries. Everything was happening so fast that I didn’t have time to really analyze anything. The first time, it was determined that I don’t fit the criteria for genetic testing. BTW, HER2 is NOT genetic. I was good with that. There have been a few more deaths since then.
Now, new state, new oncologist and new guidelines meant a new geneticist as well. There is always research going on and the criteria for blood testing is constantly changing. My oncologist wanted to try again, since I am the only one who had breast cancer on either side of my family. Way to be unique, right? I uploaded all of my information to the geneticist portal so she could review it all before our consult. Long story short, even with new information and my father passing from Waldenstrom’s and my aunt from Leukemia, there was nothing there to warrant testing. I am both relieved and a little scared still. Scared because who knows what’s lurking in my gene pool! Being a little afraid is not exactly a bad idea.
I am a planner by nature, I don’t like dealing with unknowns. When I was diagnosed, I was scared shitless, for days. I cried, really ugly cried, complete with shaking sobs and gobs of snot. I did this until I was tired of it and decided I just needed to plan this whole thing out. That gave me some peace. I was still scared, but I was pulling the reigns on the whole thing. Going through treatment, who the hell has time to be afraid? Holy craziness of a whirlwind life! I was in constant fight mode, not much time nor energy to really dwell on my fears. Don’t be mistaken, they were definitely along for the ride but they were chilling in the caboose of the crazy train, waiting for their turn to sit up front and mess with me a little more.
While I was in treatment, I was always seeing a surgeon of some sort, my oncologist, primary care physician and the oncology nurses. I felt secure. Now, it’s not as easy. I see an oncologist every six months and a primary care physician as needed. I’m left to my own devices. I don’t particularly care for things that make me face my own mortality. Those feisty fears like to visit me as much as they can, usually at 2am. Now, it lingers in my mind, like a weird umbrella, hovering. I am not brave. I am not fearless. I have decided it is perfectly ok not to conquer my fears if I don’t want to. I can do something different.
What if it were ok to not conquer your fears? I’m convinced that we can coexist quite easily with our fears once we acknowledge them and move on. It is ok to be afraid and it is ok to be petrified. It is ok to be stuck in those moments for a bit, so long as we pick ourselves up and move on, rational and irrational fears in tow. What if we can own our fears and make friends with them? Cozy up alongside of them, have some coffee and get to know them a little better. Can we take away their power?
Why should we saddled down with the insane pressure to conquer our fears? What good does that kind of stress do? What if we can’t? Does that mean we are failures? Nope. Not at all. A large of my healing process has been trying to acknowledge what scares me and how I can work around it. I’ve decided I don’t need to conquer my fears to live the life I want. It doesn’t really hold me back. Acknowledging the fact that I’m usually afraid of facing my own mortality is taking some sort of control. Instead of it being a bad thing, I use it as way of guiding myself and making good decisions. I’ve worked hard over the last year to keep myself as healthy as I can, in hopes of having my immune system be within the normal range. I’ve eaten way more fresh produce than I’ve ever dreamt of, spend time outdoors and exercise consistently. What if our fears can help us live our best lives?
Not being around to watch my children grow older and have families of their own is what scares me the most. This fear is what motivates me, it is what drives me on a daily basis. It doesn’t consume me and I don’t obsess, but, this helps me make choices that should result in a long and healthy life. I don’t need to conquer my fear, I’ve made peace with it and have decided it should run a long side of me, cheering me on and helping me out, maybe holding my hand. I have chosen to form a partnership with it. What if our fears are really supposed to help guide and shape our lives into what they are supposed to be? Instead of fighting against fear, what if we allowed our fears to help us fly and soar through life?