Marissa Henley

Encouraging weary women to hope in Christ alone

You might be a cancer survivor if . . .

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When I started brainstorming a list of experiences and feelings that are unique to cancer survivors, I thought it would be funny.  But when I was finished, it seemed more serious and sad than I expected.  I guess that in many ways, being a cancer survivor isn’t very fun.  It is challenging and scary and sad.  But it’s also beautiful and sanctifying and strengthening, as we continue to figure out what it looks like to trust our faithful Lord in all circumstances.

 

This list is based on my personal experience with being diagnosed in my mid-30’s with a rare cancer that is generally associated with a grim prognosis. It may not reflect the experience of all cancer survivors, and that does not lessen their survivorship in any way.

 

My goal is not to generalize or define what it means to be a cancer survivor.  I hope to shed some light on what cancer survivorship is like for me and possibly help you understand the cancer survivors in your life a little better.

 

You might be a cancer survivor . . .

  • if your goals include outliving the expiration date on your credit card
  • if you know how to apply eye makeup to make it look like you have eyelashes when you don’t
  • if you know what scanxiety is and exactly how it feels
  • if putting your hair in a ponytail makes you really happy
  • if you are quick to jump into photos with your kids and not worry if you don’t look perfect
  • if you’ve ever had an awkward encounter with a male TSA agent involving a breast prosthesis
  • if it takes you fifteen minutes to fill out a medical history form, but you can rattle off your medical record number and date of birth in two seconds flat
  • if you’ve ever held your toddler while she slept and begged God to let you live long enough for her to remember you
  • if you have a large box of wigs, hats and scarves somewhere in your closet
  • if you have plastic surgeons in two states and their work is covered by insurance
  • if you get super excited about each and every birthday (and expect everyone around you to do the same!)
  • if you can’t remember all your doctors’ names but know the normal ranges for CBC values by heart
  • if you love being there for birthday parties, piano recitals, school parties and holidays
  • if you date your photos by how much hair you have – before-cancer-hair, no hair, super-short hair, cute-short hair, three-years-post-cancer-shoulder-length hair, etc.
  • if you’ve ever asked a doctor how long you have to live
  • if you obsess over every ache and pain, bump and bruise
  • if you know what it’s like to have hundreds of people praying for you
  • if you are thankful for your healthy body, even with all its imperfections and scars
  • if you are convinced that God’s faithfulness is true because you’ve seen how He always provides
  • if you know that the peace of Christ is real because you’ve experienced in your darkest moments
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The Most Selfish Thing I Do

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I do a lot of selfish things.  I talk too much and interrupt people.  I throw adult-style, sophisticated temper tantrums when things don’t go my way.  I spent way too much time and money caring for myself, my reputation and my stuff.  I’ve known this for a long time.

But recently, I realized that there’s another way selfishness manifests itself in my life.  Every day.  Sometimes every hour.

 

I worry.

 

I worry about myself.  I worry about other people.  I worry about the weather, about the future, about the past.  And what is at the root of almost all of these worries?  Me.

Why do I worry about my future? Because I don’t want to experience suffering.  I try to figure out a way around hardship, because I don’t like it when life is difficult or sad or confusing.  I want an easy, happy life.

Sometimes, worry masquerades as concern for others.  But it’s mostly about me.  I worry about my husband, because I want him to be perfect so I don’t have to struggle in our marriage.  I worry about my children, because I don’t want to experience the pain of their bad choices.  I worry about my friend with cancer, because I will be sad if she dies.  I worry about the weather, but only when it is going to interfere with my plans.  I worry about world events that might someday impact me and my family.

 

Me.  Me.  Me.  Me.  Me.

 

Seeing the depth of selfishness associated with my worrying helps me to see why the Bible tells us not to worry.  Over and over again:  do not fear, do not be anxious about anything, do not worry about tomorrow.

The Lord knows that when we are worrying, we are focused on ourselves.  He wants us to be focused on Him, trusting Him, accepting what He gives with a peaceful heart.  He knows that what we need more than a happy, easy life is a quiet heart that is resting in Him.

 

You keep him in perfect peace

        whose mind is stayed on you,

        because he trusts in you.

Trust in the LORD forever,

        for the LORD GOD is an everlasting rock.

Isaiah 26:3-4

 

 

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Manna

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One thing I love about the Lord is that we can always rely on Him to give us exactly what we need to endure any circumstance.  When I had cancer, He showered me with His grace like never before, always giving me the grace and peace required by my exceptionally painful and difficult circumstances.  I started calling this provision “cancer manna.”

 

Just like the manna that God sent to the Israelites in the wilderness (see Exodus 16), cancer manna–or challenging-child manna or difficult-marriage manna or *insert-trial-here* manna–is just what you need for that day.  No more.  No less.  It doesn’t make your circumstances less painful–just as I’m sure that wilderness was hot and tiring and seemed to never end.  But God’s perfect manna sustains you and meets your every need as you walk through your personal wilderness.

 

I have been cancer-free since July 20, 2011.  I praise God daily for this physical healing.  But the spiritual and emotional challenges that come with cancer survivorship and the possibility of recurrence can be overwhelming.  My quarterly trips to Houston for check-ups are especially anxiety-inducing.  And once again, that time is quickly approaching.

 

I’ve realized that these pre-check-up weeks are so difficult because in my mind, I have cancer.  I’m imagining the words coming out the doctor’s mouth, trying to figure out what we would do and how it would all work out . . . wow, it is really stressful to have imaginary cancer!  I need some of that cancer manna from before . . . oh, wait . . . God isn’t giving me cancer manna.  Because the truth is:  1.  I don’t have cancer.  2.  Living as though you have cancer when you’re not receiving the Lord’s cancer manna is stressful and exhausting.  And 3. if someday I have cancer again, the Lord will immediately pour out that cancer manna and meet each and every one of our needs.  He is good, and He is faithful.  He knows the exact date and time when I will need cancer manna again (if ever).  And in the meantime, He is giving the perfect manna for my daily situations . . . not the hypotheticals, not other people’s problems I’m trying to solve, but the work He has given to ME for TODAY.

 

God is good, and He is faithful in all things.

 

John 6:48-51 (Jesus speaking):  

“I am the bread of life. Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

 

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Scans

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There are many difficult aspects of life in Cancer World, even when you live there as someone who is blessed to be currently cancer-free.  For me, the quarterly check-ups are one of the most difficult parts.  When you’ve had cancer, especially one as aggressive as angiosarcoma, you know your cancer-free status can be snatched away at any time.  A lump, a symptom . . . the possibility is always lurking, but never as ominously as when you go for those scans.  I will make trips to Houston every three months for a CT scan of my chest, abdomen and pelvis to check for a recurrence.  My scans are coming up soon.  And I’ll be honest, it is a struggle to keep the anxiety from taking over.

It feels like I’m standing on a beach.  The sand beneath my feet is my cancer-free life–being a normal mom who gets to drive her kids to school, go to Wal-mart, show up for stuff even when someone with a cold might be there, and take care of her family.  I can hear the waves of recurrence threatening to wipe my cancer-free life away, but it’s dark.  I have no idea whether I’m inches from those waves or whether they are way off in the distance.  I have no idea when the tide will roll in.  Will it come with this scan?  Or the next?  Or not for 20 years?  The darkness is what makes it so difficult.  If I could just see those waves, maybe I could get myself ready . . .

But then I realize that I’m not standing only on sand.  Beneath that sand is the Rock, and it cannot be washed away even by the most ferocious waves.  That Rock is Jesus Christ.  Hebrews 2:8 reminds us that everything is under His control.  And I John 3:16 reminds us that He loves me so much that He died for me.  That is one powerful, comforting combination.

This is the remedy for the anxiety that threatens to overwhelm me at times . . . God’s character and His promises to me.  He doesn’t promise that the waves won’t come.  But He promises to meet every one of my needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:19).

I’m so thankful for that Rock.

If you would like to pray for me, please pray that the perfect peace of God would guard my heart and my mind and that my mind would be steadfast on Christ.  You can pray for comfort for me as I go through the CT scan and await the results, for wisdom for my doctors, and that my life would bring glory to Jesus Christ, my Rock and my Redeemer.

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