Being a Cancer Survivor is a Gift I Never Take for Granted

It’s National Cancer Survivor Month. Surviving this disease is a wonderful reason to celebrate. Nevertheless, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with the word “survivor” since I learned in 2016 that I would be in treatment for my stage 4 ovarian cancer for the rest of my life. I equated survive with cured. A survivor was someone who had the disease, went through treatment, was cured, and able to leave it behind. Turns out the word has a more encompassing definition. Dictionary.com defines it as one who is still alive after an event in which others have died. Also, one who copes well with difficulties in life.

I certainly fit the first definition, and I try to embrace the second one. Just this morning I received the results of my latest three-month CT scan. Stable. Sweet relief. I actually waited until my appointment with my oncologist to get the results. Normally, I would’ve called the office a day or two after the scan and bugged the nurses to look it up for me. It might not seem like much, but I used to agonize over whether I faced a recurrence every minute until the doctor shared the results. Waiting is a sign I’ve learned to cope with the uncertainty. I didn’t spend the weekend worrying and spinning wild, endless scenarios for what would come next if the scan showed progression. I went about life, spending time with family, going to church, eating good food and reading good books. That’s more than surviving. It’s flourishing.

It takes hard work to flourish in the face of a cancer life sentence. Living with metastatic cancer is a little like being a contestant in that TV show “Survivor.” You learn to be tough, to gut it out, to deal with pain, to bear sleepless nights, to be hungry, (fasting really sucks, okay?), to work at being physically fit, and to psych yourself out to get through another day of treatment in the infusion room. Sometimes you have to take an unfamiliar path, not knowing where it will lead. A new treatment, a new oncologist, a clinical trial — all can result in feelings of hopelessness being lost in the jungle (or the desert or the island!). Some get to take home the big prize — No Evidence of Disease. Others find themselves sticking around to seek new ways to defeat those fearsome cancer cells that design endlessly new Trojan horses to invade their bodies.

Being a cancer survivor for nine and a half years has taught me to live in the moment, to make those moments count. To get my priorities straight and keep them that way. I’ve written more than 30 novels since my diagnosis. I’m living my dream of being a full-time author. I’ve celebrated nine wedding anniversaries and played with three new grandbabies. The moments of joy — big and small — have been countless. A juicy hamburger, a funny movie, a toddler’s giggle, a favorite song, a dad joke, a lovely nap, sunflowers, chimes tinkling in the wind, a chocolate-chip cookie still warm from the oven, a grandchild’s hug — that’s the good stuff.

Less and less often come those moments of worry and anxiety about the future, but they still come. I may need to have a quick pity party, but I try not to wallow in it. I do things like look at photos of the grandkids, write a list of my blessings, text my daughter, or revisit favorite scripture. Then I get up, pull up my big girl panties, and get on with the next fun thing God has in store for me. It took far too long for me to see how He was working in my life and how I could use these trials to help others — especially in my writing. When the concept finally penetrated my thick head, I realized no matter what comes, I have work to do. I have a reason for being here. That’s something to celebrate.

My hope is I’m using my time as a survivor to the best of my ability on behalf of all the women with ovarian cancer who didn’t get this opportunity. I’ll never take this gift of being a survivor for granted. Happy National Cancer Survivor Month!

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