I dated a guy in seminary named M. It was only less than a year that we dated, but it got pretty serious pretty quickly. It became clear about halfway into the relationship, however, that he had a lot of unresolved issues, and they came out in some behaviors that were very hurtful to me and to others. The unhealthiness of the relationship became clearer and clearer, but I was resistant to letting go. This relationship was familiar to me, and I had invested so much in it, and I wasn't about to just give it all up without a fight. Finally, though, I came to my senses and broke up with him, cut him out of my life. I knew it was the right thing to do, but I was devastated. He was bad for me, I knew, but at least he was familiar. Six weeks later, I found someone to fill the void - a very nice guy who also wasn't all that good for me, but at least he treated me well.
Okay, now fast forward to this past week. I have for the past 14 years had the fear of cancer hanging over my head. For 13 years, that fear was on the back burner, but the past year it was been very in my face, a ticking time bomb on which I was trying to keep a one step lead. On this past Wednesday, when I was told, "No cancer" (with the implied, "And essentially no more risk of cancer"), and then also got my drains out when I had expected to have them for another week at least... That risk with which I had lived for 14 years suddenly disappeared. No more cancer. No more drains to manage. It was all suddenly gone.
Turns out, I wasn't prepared for that.
Fears can become a comfort, can't they? So can unhealthy behaviors. Even if you know something is bad for you or dangerous, at least it is familiar. After I broke up with M, I felt devastated and empty and wanted to fill that emptiness as soon as possible. And I think something similar happened after I "broke up" with my risk for cancer. My feeling about all that I had been carrying needed to be transferred elsewhere.
Where did it go? It found a home in another piece of the same puzzle. When my risk for cancer went away, I also was immediately struck with the realization that for the first time in my life, getting pregnant is a real and joyful possibility. There is nothing in my way now: I'm married, we're financially stable, we have room in our home, and we have no health concerns (that we know of) keeping us from trying. I have been looking forward to this moment for my whole life.
But now, suddenly, it terrified me. The realization donned on me in the doctor's office as a positive thing, but as we walked out of the hospital, I kept noticing all the ailments people were dealing with - wheelchairs, illnesses, injuries, syndromes... All of these things and more could happen to OUR children! My cancer is gone, but who is to say I won't pass on my predisposition for cancer to our children, and have to do this all over again as the caretaker? Who in their right mind would willingly bring children into a world where so much can go wrong?
In my heart, I know that it will be worth it, whatever happens. And it's not like this is the first time I have considered this. The suddenness of my fear seemed to come from the realization that now that I don't have to worry about my own stuff anymore, I need to transfer that fear to something else, just as I so quickly found another boyfriend who was not good for me but at least was a nice person. (Dare I say, this is my "rebound" fear?) Fears can become a comfort, and if a fear is taken away, we may feel inclined to quickly find something else to be afraid of. In my case, it is having children - cruelly, the very thing I hoped would be the joy at the end of this cancer journey.
Recognizing this is an important step. What it has really highlighted for me and for us is that I'm not really done with healing from cancer. I mean, I'm still physically healing for sure - I'm still in a fair amount of pain (though finally off narcotics), not yet driving, and lacking the full mobility and strength of my dominant arm. I have a couple weeks yet of medical leave. More to the point, my heart is still healing. I'm still seeking the wholeness I mentioned in a previous post. Our lives have been in crisis mode for over a year; our hearts have been traumatized. I wish that the steps of healing were as clear for hearts as they are for surgery (drains are out, I can complete these exercises, I am down to this many pain meds, etc.), but of course they aren't.
These next weeks and months, I will of course attend to the needs of my bodily healing. But Michael and I will both need to be vigilant in caring for our hearts' healing, as well, so that we can replace those old fears - not with new fears, but with joy and hope. God grant us the insight, perseverance, and courage for this task!
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