October is breast cancer awareness month and my Pinterest feed has turned pink and sparkly. Lots of slogans, lots of reminders, lots of pink ribbons. The popularity around breast cancer is a good thing. It means more women are aware of their risk and take getting an annual mammogram and self-exams seriously. It also translates into research dollars which is vital to finding treatments to prolong the lives of women who find themselves with a cancer diagnosis. Women like me whose cancer didn’t respond to standard treatments, need the investigative therapies, new drugs and clinical trials these research dollars bring. The profusion of pink and popularity also lets those of us who have breast cancer know that we are not alone. These are all good things.
But what is the cost of all this pink? No one likes to look at ugly. That’s why we put up privacy fences to block out the eyesores next door and hide our clutter and messes in closets. We hide behind the words “I’m fine,” and we wrap the ugliness of breast cancer in pink ribbons and bows. Because no one wants to look at the ugliness of breast cancer—especially the woman going through it. The danger of covering breast cancer in pink ribbons and cute slogans is that we never get to the part that is real. We never deal with our scars, with the messy, with the pain, with the fear. With the ugly. We hide behind “I’m fine” because it’s easier.
As a community of breast cancer warriors and survivors we need the pink ribbons, we need walks for a cure, we need breast cancer awareness month. But we also need a friend who will look us in the eye when we say we are “fine” and know that we are not. A friend who will listen to our fears, understand our anger, wipe our tears, and laugh with us when we are being ridiculous. We all need a friend we cannot hide from.
Having cancer—any cancer—is a scary business. From diagnosis through treatment your focus is on your next appointment, next scan, next surgery until the day you are declared cancer free and done. I am almost at the point where I can say cancer is behind me. Good riddance. I want to wash my hands of this year and get back to living my life like it was before cancer. The problem is, I don’t entirely know how to do that.
I asked my oncologist at my last appointment the dreaded question—how will I know if I’m still cancer free. He asked me if before cancer came into my life I went each year to get my left arm x-rayed just to make sure it wasn’t broken. He said, of course you didn’t. You only went to get an x-ray if there was a problem with it. Same with my cancer: if a problem arises, we will investigate it and deal with it. He also said it could take a year or more for me to feel confident again that I was healthy. Before, I thought the scariest part of having cancer was the diagnosis and treatment. Now I know it is the aftermath. How to pick up the pieces and feel safe in my own skin.
I know God does not want me to live in a state of fear. When my focus is on my fear, I cannot see the blessings God is providing. And I know that throughout my cancer journey, God has provided every single step of the way. Over and above what I could have ever asked for. I know He has been with me, calming my anxiety, making His presence known. I have a choice: I can let my fear become a cave that surrounds me, where the darkness threatens to overwhelm me, or I can choose to trust in God’s goodness in the midst of the darkness.
King David knew something about dwelling in that cave of anxiety and fear. He fled to the the cave of Adullam and stayed there for quite a while hiding from Saul. The Psalms he wrote during this time were raw and real. He poured out his heart to God and wasn’t afraid to share his discouragement. One of the Psalms written during this time, Psalm 142:4, says, “Look and see, there is no one at my right hand; no one is concerned for me. I have no refuge; no one cares for my life.” David was throwing himself a big ol’ pity party. Yet, Acts 13:22 says, “God raised up David their king. He testified about him: ‘I have found David the son of Jesse to be a man after my heart, who will accomplish everything I want him to do.’” David could whine and complain and pour out his discouragement and fear and still be called a man after God’s own heart. His relationship with God was deep and real.
Years ago, in a book I can’t even remember the name of, I read a sentence I haven’t forgotten: God is big enough to handle your anger, discouragement and fear. I don’t have to hide my anger at having cancer—He already knows it. I don’t have to pretend everything is rosy and I’m not afraid of my cancer coming back—He knows that too. Real relationships require honesty and authenticity. They are raw. In a real relationship we share the good times, the not so good times, and the downright awful times. I am thankful God is not some distant deity looking down benevolently but removed from my life and my problems. No, He is right here with me. He knows every single one of my fears. He has seen every single tear I’ve cried in the middle of the night. As I look to “life after cancer” I will choose not to be controlled by my fears. “For God did not give us a Spirit of fear but of power and love and and self-control.” 2 Timothy 1:7 But I know the fears will come. And when they do, I won’t hide them from God. I will share them with Him and He will calm my heart.
T.S.CONLAY 