As a wife and mom of three, I can definitely say there is truth in the saying, “the days are long but the years are short.” The years seem to be flying by at an incredible speed, yet sometimes it feels like the days are crawling by at a snail’s pace. Sure, it feels like I blinked and my babies are now 4 and my oldest, now 11, is heading to middle school in the fall.
Admittedly, this is a year I hoped would fly by. Since I was diagnosed with cancer in November of 2017, I wished so bad I had that nifty remote from the movie Click with Adam Sandler where I could fast-forward through all of the pain and uncertainty of this year.
But as much as I would have loved to run and hide from it, I knew in my heart I had to face it head-on. There was no mistaking, this was going to be incredibly difficult on all of us, but the only way to beat it was to go through it—together.
Now, instead of counting down the days until our next family trip, we’re counting down the days until my last chemotherapy treatment. Now, every other Thursday, I’m counting down the minutes as my chemotherapy slowly infuses into my veins. Instead of focusing on my summer tan, I’m trying to regrow my hair. It’s a new twist and I’m trying my best to accept my current state—bald and all.
This is our life now.
These are the days in the trenches. It’s week after week of doctor appointments, labs, tests and trips to the ER. It’s been nearly 8 months since my initial diagnosis, and I’ve come to realize chemotherapy isn’t like it’s shown on TV and the movies. It’s a slow process filled with a lot of ups and downs.
But I’ve been surprised to find that I have been feeling better during the course of my treatment. Sure, I still have good days and bad days, but there is a predictable pattern to my symptoms, and with just three treatments to go, the end is in sight and the light at the end is getting brighter by the day.
All of this had me thinking about the nature of time, and how it often feels so relative to our surroundings. For instance, we all have had those times where it seemed time seems to warp around whatever we are experiencing, both good and bad.
Like the feeling of time standing still when we are with our partner, or how hours can fly by in mere moments when you’re talking to a dear friend or someone you love. Then there are the times, when the hours seem to drag: when you’re waiting for your last class or work to end, standing or sitting anywhere and waiting for longer than 15 minutes.
But that is the paradox of time. We boldly treat it as a commodity we have plenty of. If we aren’t always mindful of how or where we spend our time; we tend to waste it.
I know I sure was guilty of it and still probably am.
Like most women, I would often tell myself, I will be happy when “X” happens. I would often tell myself I’d finally be happy and able to relax when I lost the 10 pounds, got the job or when my kids are more independent.
It wasn’t until I discovered my time was in jeopardy of running out, that I began to truly appreciate what a gift each day is. Because cancer insists on its own time.
To me, cancer is analog in a digital world. Each phase of the disease — diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy and other treatment — carries its own distinct sense of stepping outside traditional time, and its own sense of separation from the world around you.
However, one of the blessings of cancer, is that it cements you to the present moment. All I have is NOW. I can no longer get to hung up in future events or beat myself up over past transgressions. In many ways, the certainty in which I use to naively eye the future is gone.
When you’re diagnosed with a serious illness like cancer, it makes sense to wonder how many birthdays, holidays and events you will be able to witness. Because when your days start to feel numbered, it’s only natural to start counting them.
But I’ve learned that when we become too preoccupied with counting our days, we forget to fill each one with things that matter. Sure, now that I’m in remission, we have new milestones and anniversaries to celebrate. I hope I am fortunate to count my remission by the number of years that have passed. But for now, I am thankful for today and I’m focused on making the most it because the way I see it:
Now is the time.
Now is the time for more hugs and fewer words left unsaid. For more belly laughs and less tears. For extra late-night cuddles and butterfly kisses. For letting the dishes and the laundry wait while we make more family memories.
I’ve come to realize and appreciate that there is a reason God numbers our days.
It’s to make them precious. NOW is the time to appreciate all we have because NOW is all we truly ever have. And the only thing more precious than our time is who we spend it on.
