The Chemo Files

Don’t worry, The Chemo Files is not a new segment of emails you’ll have to trudge through with me.

But there are some things I want to share.

When the tumor was found, the doctor (kindly) shared two things:

1. It’s malignant

2. It’s too big to remove

I was so shocked that I giggled. Giggled. My brain couldn’t process that I had woken up that day feeling healthy and happy, signing up for a yoga class and walking my dog, and now I was a… terminal cancer patient?

The week that followed was unlike any experience I had the capacity to imagine. I sat on my couch and stared out of the window, crying. I yelled at God and then pleaded and then went to bed multiple times a day. My brain would wake me up by saying “you have cancer” before I was even fully conscious. I wondered if I would see my daughter get married next May. I wondered if I had done this to myself.

Few people know this, but I am what one would call a “Christian.” I don’t often speak about my faith because historically, I think Christians have been just about the poorest representation of anything good. They’ve been on the wrong side of history so often that it’s embarrassing.

Still, I pray, and I pray a lot. There is such a deep well of grief that forms and so many questions to wrestle with when your very life is on the line.

After many tests and more needles than I’d ever thought I’d see, I was downgraded from Stage IV to Stage 3C. We are gunning for full recovery. This means 16 weeks of the most aggressive chemo on the market, followed by 6 weeks of chemo + radiation, in hopes that we’ve shrunk that sucker down enough to remove it through surgery.

I have decided: I am going to live. A long time.

But this isn’t me coming at you with graceful determination. In fact, sometimes, mostly the day after chemo, I want to call my doctor and say “forget it. I’ll just ride this out. No one should feel this way.” I don’t feel strong. But I am eating the elephant one bite at a time.

So, why am I writing this to you instead of my journal?

There are three heavy and critical thoughts that keep circulating in my head, and I think they’re worth sharing:

1- My mind was a junkyard.

I think our brains retain a little something from everything we do, see, hear, encounter. My mind has remnants of a million books and podcasts, episodes of Law & Order, pieces of advice, both good and bad. Insults and compliments I’ve received. Fears and dreams and petty jealousies and deep loves.

And I had accumulated so much damn junk that I had completely lost sight of my most prized possessions. I wish a diagnosis like this on no one, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing for everyone to imagine it for a few minutes. To really sit inside what it may mean to leave this earth so much sooner than you’d thought.

What have you been fearing? What have you been spending your time on? Saying no to (when it should be a yes)? Saying yes to (when it should be a no)? Whose opinions and influence have been weighing you down? Which friendships or situations did you need to exit (or enter) long ago?

Death is incredibly clarifying. And I realize that I was too consumed and held by things I simply do not care about, sometimes even dislike.

2- I’m tired of choosing.

This may, in fact, be the title of my new podcast.

I’m tired of choosing which side of myself to lean into. I’m a creative builder. I love learning new things, ALL KINDS of new things. I spent an hour learning about college architecture this morning. I spend my days dreaming of choreography. I’m great at community frameworks. I love complex emotional situations and body language. I have strong opinions about Venture Capital.

And I am so, so tired of hearing about niching down and being an expert in one thing and all things thought leader and influencer. We can have an entirely different conversation about whether one cannot possibly build a profitable business unless they choose a niche, but I am tired of trying my hardest to talk about stuff that sometimes bores me because it’s “what the people want.” If the people want it, then I guess they’re not my people.

(disclaimer: this is not a statement about How to People or community, but about the general feeling that I need to be about one thing)

3- Holy crap… community.

I am bad, and I mean baaaaad at asking for and accepting help. Two weeks into my diagnosis, my very lovely friend Angela said, “if you keep telling people you’re ok and don’t need help, pretty soon they’ll stop asking.”

This is a time in life that I do need support, because sometimes I am hopeful and determined, but mostly I am terrified and confused. I opened up a little…

• I told my Wondry community about my diagnosis and was met with nothing but graciousness and messages of “how can we help?”. These are people who plunked down money to learn from me two weeks before my diagnosis.

• My friend Heather asked if she could set up a meal train and I’ve had random people dropping off food constantly. These people don’t even know me!

• I’ve had friends that I’m not in regular contact with suddenly message me weekly and sometimes daily just to express love and support.

Before this diagnosis, I felt quite alone. After moving across the country and not doing a good job of meeting people in New England, I would consider this the least communal time in my life. As it turns out, I am surrounded by more love and support than I was even a little aware of.

Community works. Community will change the very direction of a person’s life; sometimes even their will to press on.

Tony Robbins once said, “how is the worst thing that ever happened to you actually the best thing that ever happened to you?”

Cancer took the messy kaleidoscope of my life and pulled it into perfect and clear alignment, shifting priorities, clearing cobwebs, and reminding me both who I am and who I have in my corner.

That’s the message. I hope it’s universal enough to land.

Onward,

April