Pam Wilson

When Pam was told she had AML, she initially wondered if she had been a good person to the people around her.

The moment you hear you have cancer. The moment you hear you have leukemia. The moment when you hear you have acute myeloid leukemia (AML). The moment you hear you may have mutations. The moment you hear you have the FLT3 mutation. The moment they tell you because you have x, y and that is why you are now a high-risk leukemia patient.

You begin to wonder; you desperately need to ponder: Have I done enough? Have I been a good daughter? Sister? Mother? Friend? Wife? Therapist, etc.? You feel the need to hurl yourself out of the past and into the present and run as fast as you can to get as much done before time runs out.

You privately vow to yourself you will do x, y and z and start on your bucket list while you are still here. The challenge is to select what is most important that is near and dear to your heart. That is where you must start. You may think it is a choice, but those moments will start to leak out of you when you least expect it.

The pivotal experience that shaped my perspective on life was while I was in the throes of induction chemo. It all was new and scary to me with so many new things to learn. The unease over if I ever get to do and say what I need to say was ever looming.

I didn’t really know how and when to start. It occurred to me it was the time when I was so weak and sick. I had been instructed that the three things I needed to do each day to have a chance of survival were:

I wanted to do everything they said I should do, so I did as I was told, 

I was too sick to eat, too weak to walk alone and too weak to bathe myself.

Without hesitation, my daughter was by my side each step of the way. She would get down to her underwear and sit on the shower bench and hold me up while she bathed my battle-worn body. When she returned me to my bed, I saw my daughter through the eyes of who I always hoped her to be. This compassionate act assured me I had raised a wonderful being in my daughter as well as in my son.

Prior to that, I was afraid they didn’t know how much I loved them. Did they love me? Did I do enough? That trepidation l had was lifted from my soul. I found peace in that moment. That was enough for me.

 lived long enough to see the life I prayed for. My children had become wonderful people, parents, partners and had learned all the right virtues I wanted to instill in them. They were kind, empathetic, compassionate beings who would pass these virtues on without me physically being here. I could relax now knowing that I had really done enough. I have lived a full life and I was able to witness that through the loving acts of my children.

And in that moment, I truly started living.

This post was written and submitted by Pam Wilson

. The article reflects the views of Wilson and not of CURE®. This is also not supposed to be intended as medical advice.

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Cancer Helped Me See the Life I Prayed For

When I set about to tell my cancer story, I just had a hard time summing it all up, so I just assumed I was never going to be able to write well enough to be called a writer. But for some reason, that has always been important to me — I want to convey to others how I feel.

While in stall mode, I picked up my journal. To this day, I cannot actually remember how I wrote it.

Here’s an entry from when I was beginning to feel like a burden. Everyone in my inner circle was exhausted. Friends and extended family were afraid to check in. This was my attempt at being brave enough. When I saw them slowly falling apart, it was out of love that I wrote this letter to them.

I am writing this to you both. To the two people who love me the most. So, sharing this with anyone else could be hurtful. I have known for some time your love(s) for me has given me strength, grief, hope, forgiveness and love in return. I guess I am learning love is not perfect, but neither are any one of us. But through it all, you two have perfected my understanding of true love and I thank you both for that.

This process I am going through is a true marathon. Funny thing — I always wanted to run a marathon. I never had enough faith in myself or time or confidence or whatever the stall process was, so I made excuses as to why I couldn’t.

Life has its own plans for each of us. What I’ve come to realize is that I have been training for the conditioning aspect for a very long time, my whole lifetime, in fact. I always knew I needed to be in good shape for as long as possible.

When a loved one runs in a marathon, family and friends spread out along the route to cheer their loved one on, but no one can run the race for them. It is such a personal journey that starts with a single step. Periods of highs and lows happen during the 26 miles, most of which the bystanders cannot feel. The fortitude is from within.

I am at the starting gate with this new “marathon,” checking off the bucket list I did not know I had. Crisis mode has passed.

If you truly believe I have the fortitude which I think I have, then I need you two to get in your mile-marker support roles. I need you both to go back to your lives and watch me complete this journey with your unwavering support. Jordan, you have a job to find and a partner to nurture. Michael you now have two houses with incomplete projects plus my fur babies to tend to. Both of you have held the pause button long enough. Get back to your life. I beg you to finish your stuff too.

I will reach out if I don’t see you at mile markers as I pass. I have always done my best when I was up against a wall and found my inner strength.

So, book your ticket home. You can always come home.

If I did not have such chemo brain, my words would be more eloquently expressed. My love and gratitude for you got me through the first and most arduous part of this process. Acceptance.

For this, I will be forever indebted to your unwavering love and support and the ability to forge an alliance when it was necessary.

After I was diagnosed with cancer, I started to feel like a burden to my loved ones. So, I wrote a letter urging them to continue on with other aspects of their lives.

Pam Wilson

Cancer Helped Me See the Life I Prayed For

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