"Two weeks ago today..."

“Two weeks ago today…”

Two weeks ago today, my world turned upside down. I vividly remember getting the phone call in my classroom. I repeated to the nurse on the line what she just informed me: "I needed to come up as soon as possible after school." I'm positive the fear was present in my face, and I saw my students and paraprofessionals faces as they watched my mind immediately begin processing and knowing that the news had to be bad or else there wouldn’t be such urgency.

The drive up to the Drs. Office took forever, and I remember debating on whether I should call my husband or not. I decided not to. I also was texting a friend, asking her to pray as I waited in the patient room. I was in the patient room all of maybe 3-5 minutes. When the Doctor pulled the chair up next to me, in close proximity, I remember saying: “It’s not good, is it?’ I remember the compassion in his face when he told me it was not. He explained a few things about the biggest tumor, and then sent me down the road to see the pulmonologist. I do remember asking him if I could call my husband. I simply told Wes “You need to come up to the Doctors office right now.”

Today, I was at the Doctors office at the exact same time as I was two weeks ago, and I thought to myself how time has changed in these two weeks. On a physical front, time has left my sleeping habits in disarray, my eating habits almost non-existent, and my motor skills a tad bit slower, as if I’m in a daze. On a mental front, time ekes by so slowly. I find it tough to be able to complete my KU college coursework, which, as someone who has always loved to write, is tough to process. Usually, I can whip out an assignment rather quickly once I get my organization outline processed, and pinpoint and sequence what I want to write and how I would organize my paper. Now, it takes longer. I’m working very hard to complete as much KU coursework as possible, as I know once the radiation and chemo begin, my fatigue levels are going to change.

Time also stands still in a sense when your world flips. I find myself taking the long way to work. I’ve always been a “fly by the seat of my pants, fast moving train” persona. Now, it makes me giggle out loud to see how patient of a driver I’ve become by accident of diagnosis of cancer. I’m moving in slow motion and want time to stand still. I’ve decided I’m a better driver now that I have cancer. Before diagnosis, I might have darted out in traffic if a car was of some distance from me. Now, I patiently wait for them to pass, and then go on my way. Cancer makes me a better driver. I move slower, more cautious and am alert to my surroundings.

It’s weird what dealing with a disease that affects your mortality does to you. On one hand, you become very reflective and introspective. You see the silver lining in life. You rationalize, empathize and equate things in a total different manner. You also question “Why?” What allowed this horrible curse to inflict my body so pervasively? Did I deserve it for smoking? Did my family history have anything to do with this? Can the medicines buy me more time? Will the daddy of all nodules shrink? Where's this going to end up? The questions bombard my inquisitive mind. It’s amazing the introspection that coincides with news like this. I’m still waiting to wake up from this nightmare. I’m feeling fleeting moments of normalcy, but more and more, I know the waters are going to get even choppier with medicine. I pray and hope I’m strong enough and youthful enough to battle all the wonderful new medicine they're armed to help me with. They're going to be aggressive, and I'll have to pull up my former college-athlete competitiveness too. Game on, Wayne...Game on, Garth...

Perform a random act of kindness today.

Love and Prayers,
Julie