Phase 3



I'm done with chemo forever. I completed my final dose of the healing poison this morning about 12:15am. I spent yesterday in its entirety feeling anxious and painfully aware of how long it was taking for the infusion to end. As the finish line neared, my chest began to tighten. The walls began to close in. The beeping of my infusion pump felt louder and the sickening hospital smell seemed stronger. The question, "What now?" presented itself for the first time. Up until that moment, my thoughts were consumed with the mundane simplicity of treatment and daily recuperation -- just living. Then suddenly my "finish line" had come and gone and I wasn't quite prepared for the emotion that followed. I began to cry as it dawned on me that while treatment was over, some parts of this journey are just starting.

I walked out of the 10th floor where I spent a total of six weeks of my life fighting for survival. My favorite people surrounded me as we treaded through the quiet halls one last time. I let my tears flow during the exit and long into our car ride home. It was a natural release of thousands of emotions that were suddenly demanding acknowledgement. 

I really did do it. I overcame cancer. I survived. 


I would not have been able to do it without the people around me. As I walked down the halls I was reminded of how 
my mom and I arrived at 1am from Birmingham 4 months ago ... freezing cold, exhausted, and eager to find my room. My tumors were excruciating and I was desperate for relief. Last night it came full circle -- I began and finished chemotherapy in the quiet stillness of the night, surrounded by people who love me. A familiar and constant voice never stopped whispering, "I am with you. And I am good, even in this."

As we left Vanderbilt, I let myself endure the out of body experience. I watched the girl who walked in to that hospital walk out differently. I mourned some of the suffering and pain that I endured within those tan walls. Then I let the joy of my new self emerging be celebrated. I didn't try to sort out the happy tears from the sad. I let it all be felt at once. Some of life's most treasured moments happen when we acknowledge the good and bad simultaneously. 
The people we love are more treasured because of the lonely nights without them. The story is more beautiful because of the struggle. The suffering is worth more because it will one day be redeemed. 

So now here I am at the end of a brutal and life altering spring and summer. Even though I finished my chemotherapy treatment, in an odd way this journey feels like it is just beginning. The best way that I can describe it is to split it all into three parts. 


Phase 1 was my diagnosis. The out of nowhere news that at 22 years old I had two tumors taking over my insides. In a matter of days I went from being a healthy, soon-to-be college graduate to a cancer patient who was fighting for her life. Phase 1 consisted of my life being turned upside down. 


Phase 2 was treatment. Six rounds of chemo in 3 week increments. Hair loss. Extreme nausea and vomiting. Life crippling fatigue and mouth sores too painful to describe. More than anything, life took on an eerie simplicity. I returned my attention back to the basics: eating, sleeping, walking, showering, trying to see visitors. Everything slowed down. My first thought of the day was my strategy for survival. How will I maintain hope? How will I push through the days that make me want to quit?


And that brings me to Phase 3: healing

You see, even though I almost done with treatment, some of the hardest parts of my journey lie ahead. Now is the time to heal: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Unlike the first two phases, there is no time stamp for healing. No doctor can tell me how long it will take for my life to feel like my own again. I no longer have infusions to occupy my time or medicine to numb the pain. I’ve watched my mom go through cancer and read enough blogs to know that the real healing begins after treatment and often takes up to a year. I know that if I jump in to old routines too soon the world might start closing in. 

Like plants, we need time and space to thrive. I’m praying for the grace to embrace where I've been as I patiently wait for the healing to come.

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