Cancer and the Gardener from the Shire

The Proper Noun

Humans have been telling stories since the dawn of time and it is only natural we would want our lives to reflect the best parts of the stories we are told. This idea tends to cause people to genre their lives. You are living an adventure, experiencing a tragedy, enjoying a comedy, and so on.

When it comes to a chronic illness or looming disease, I find it interesting how those ideas of genre change. We say, "their cancer journey, his battle with MS, her struggle with depression" and we usually say it somberly as if we are hoping it is a secret even to the person experiencing it.Truthfully, at times it could be a secret to the ones suffering.

When I was diagnosed with cancer initially all I could think was, "This is now my life." I never thought I was going on a journey or some daring adventure but sometimes it turns out that way.

I love high fantasy so at times I am glad to think of my life with cancer as my adventure or even my quest. Good conflict in any story does less to hold the protagonist back and more to move them forward.

The Unwavering Companion

Ever journey has it's, fellowship if you will, of characters who are there for the main character. Some of these are only temporary and some are more permanent fixtures.

The same is true when going through cancer. You have people that are there for all of your burdens, there for just moments at a time but create strong bonds, and sadly those you have to leave behind. All these people mean something to your journey, even if it is just a little push you need that day.

During my first quest, my constant companion was my father. When I was first diagnosed, Tara and I had just gotten married a few months before the diagnosis and we had closed on our house mere days before I was to hear the words, "You have cancer." Tara was contracted out at the time and could not take leave to help me. Then things got worse, the company would not be renewing her contract and she was to lose her job. I of course couldn't work because not only was I going to Houston for one week, every two weeks; but the chemo was kicking my down hard.

My father was the Samwise to my Frodo, with me since the beginning. After my case was reviewed he and I set out on the first of many trips, just to get the results. In our minds, we would go to MD Anderson, they would give us their plan to bring home, I would do chemo at home and I would get better. We drive 5 hours, stopping only to use the bathroom, no food breaks straight to the doctor appointment. My oncologist delivered the blow that I was in a more difficult position than I hoped and the type of chemo I was to receive was so severe that only MD Anderson could do it because others had died on the same regimen.  I called Tara and we both hurt. I told her I would be home the next day after we stayed in Texas for the night. I sat in the passenger's seat to cry and feel sorry for myself  and feel asleep almost immediately. 

When I woke up to my dad getting off the interstate by my grandparents, I looked up to realize we were nowhere near their home, instead we were two hours in the opposite direction headed back to Covington. My dad knew I really wanted to be home but had just planned on staying so he could rest. My faithful companion and hero ended up driving what ended up being 13 hours that day because of construction with only a Snickers and a Dr. Pepper as nourishment. His selflessness helped me face Tara in a state of mind that wasn't totally broken and I knew with him by my side I could more easily face what lie ahead.

So every two week we left strong together and came back both falling apart. We laughed together, prayed together, got tired of each other, enjoyed bonding when I was able, and got frustrated over the desire to go home together. I learned from this experience that when a child suffers, not matter how old they may be, their parents suffer right along side of them. I saw how each time a child is sick their parent would do anything to take that pain on for them. I know how broken and beaten down I got, somehow my father found the strength to carry me that last leg home.

A Child's Heart of Thanksgiving

I am so grateful to my father for being my companion on my first quest. I love my dad for being so brave all my life. The man that carried me to bed as a child, then carried me again then I could barely move on my own. The man that helped me take my first steps as a toddler and then helped me take my first steps all over again when I was learning to walk with a prosthetic. The man who fought with the baby in the high chair to get food in my mouth, then fought with me to get me to eat anything in a lonely hotel room when my body just wouldn't take anything in.

I hope both my parents know how grateful I am for their love. For fighting by Tara and my side every step. I love them through the downs, through the triumphs and through the frustrations. God blessed me with wonderful parents and family.