Perspective

Perspective is a long word, one that keeps popping up in my mindset these days. I have always equated 'perspective' with 'a point of view', and it seems a way of shedding light on approaches or frames of reference that are different from my normal way of seeing things. Dealing with cancer, my perspective is continuously changing. 

There are those trying days when I understand how someone might crawl under the covers and withdraw from the world, leaving life and living to those who have more strength. Day after day, it feels like nothing will improve. No matter what, I am sick. My patience feels depleted, and if it were not for my strong faith, I could give up. 

Then a few 'stand up days' grace me with their presence and time is joyful. I can do puzzles. I can spend time in my sewing room, actually feeling progress happening. I can work around the house. Cleaning feels so normal and routine and good. I do laundry. I empty the dishwasher. I put supper together for my honey. I value those days!

Going to the cancer clinic has become very routine. Every week. I have talked with you about that often. What I want to toss out here today is how the clinic alters my perspective.

This last week, feeling upbeat about stopping that one cancer drug, I looked around at others reclined and receiving treatment. Quietly, I wondered how different their story is from mine. So many appear weak and frail, patiently struggling to be strong in their cancer fight.

I watched one young couple. The husband was fussing over his wife as she received bags of IVs. This couple looks to be in their twenties and could be focused on starting a family. Instead, they are dealing with cancer and its influence over their newlywed bliss. My heart aches for them and yet they maintain a sense of humor and willingness to accept what comes their way. They are strong together.

Next to me sat a woman in her fifties. I had not met her before and, in an effort to reach out in friendship, asked if she was just starting out. I opened the conversation that way because she was doing counted cross-stitch. Many of us at the start bring handwork, and then we learn how the Benadryl puts us to sleep. So, we leave the handwork at home.

Well, her response genuinely opened me to how different her perspective is from mine.  "No I'm not new," she said warmly. "I've been coming every week for six years. I'll do anything I can to stay alive." Talk about strength and patience and faith. How can I possibly complain?

Cancer challenges us in ways we never imagined. It comes to us, overtaking our 'normal' way of doing things and scares us into wondering whether we will survive. 

Fact is, I believe cancer introduces us to a personal internal strength that is deep within our soul. It forces us to look hard at who we are and how we are tapping into that strength as we write our own story. Cancer levels us, humbles us, and teaches us to trust that our Lord will be by our side always.  

Those of us who have known cancer - as patient or caretaker - hold tight to a common bond: cancer cannot destroy our determination to fight the good fight and stay strong...together...no matter the journey or the outcome.  Daily we are here surrounding each other with love, and that makes all the difference. Just remember...I'll do anything I can to stay alive.

Loving you and staying strong, The quilting cancer girl