Sunrise on top of Doe Mountain Trail in Sedona, Arizona

Surviving cancer is like hiking a mountain.

Your climb begins the day you’re diagnosed.

At first, a giant obstacle is all you see.

The challenge ahead seems impossible.

“How will I make it through this?” you wonder.

You don’t know how, but slowly you start putting one foot in front of the other.

Before long, you hardly recognize your surroundings.

Instead of counting by days and weeks, you start to measure time by the number of treatment cycles.

The life you left when you started this journey seems so distant now.

A series of uphill struggles led you to this point, but there isn’t always a clear-cut path.

Then you start to notice footprints scattered in the rocky dirt of those who came before you.

Although this journey can be lonely, knowing others have been in the same place and survived gives you hope.

You don’t know how you’ll make it to the other side.

The only certainty is you must keep moving.

This journey pushes you to your limits.

Bodily changes.

Emotional challenges.

Debilitating side effects.

You feel every emotion from grief and terror to a deep sense of determination.

You begin to question everything and every relationship in your life— especially your connection to God.

Many times, you feel like giving up.

But you keep showing up regardless of how you feel.

Surviving cancer is like hiking a mountain.
Little by little, you start making headway.
The journey down can be just as challenging as your climb.
Progress isn’t always obvious.
Sometimes, it’s a series of switchbacks that slowly direct you to where you need to be.

With the support of family and friends and knowledgeable doctors, you’ll find strength, courage and surprising beauty along the way.

You gain far more than you lose.

You earn a new perspective and foster a deep sense of knowing— you can face and survive— more than you ever imagined.

“Are you going to get the virus mommy? I’m scared.”

My five-year-old daughter asks me as tears fill her eyes.

“I remember when the ambulance took you away.”

“I was so scared. I thought you were going to die.”

My daughter recounts this heartbreaking story way too often.

It’s been said that when one person gets cancer, the whole family and everyone that loves them does too.

As much as I would like to put the memory of my treatment far behind me, for my children, the fear of my cancer returning or a virus sending me back into the hospital absolutely terrifies them.

I try to move past those days, but the smallest thing can trigger a memory and I find myself reliving those moments all over again.

My oldest had just left for summer camp that morning. I was violently ill and couldn’t sadly see her off to camp. My condition continued to worsen throughout the day. I couldn’t keep anything down. My husband made the difficult decision to call an ambulance.

As the paramedics arrived, I remember being so weak I could hardly speak as they loaded me on the gurney. My mother-in-law and young children were sobbing and watching helplessly as the paramedics wheeled me out of our front door and into the ambulance on our driveway.

The paramedics couldn’t get my nausea and vomiting under control. I was severely dehydrated by the time I got to this hospital. Hours after testing and a cocktail of anti-nausea medication and IV fluids my condition finally improved.

During my treatment and first year in remission, I battled severe bouts of nausea and vomiting.

I had to be hospitalized five times.

Each time I said goodbye to my family, we all wondered and feared what would come next. Thankfully, I was able to recover, and my health has greatly improved since then. Still, those what-ifs and worst-case scenarios keep replaying in the back of our minds.

It’s hard to move on, yet we continue to push forward in faith.

This is the reality most cancer fighters, survivors and immunocompromised face on a daily basis.

We may be tired.

We may be weary.

We may feel broken.

We must remember, we are warriors.

Warriors view obstacles as opportunities.

Warriors work to defy the odds.

We refuse to give up on anything or anyone.

Warriors understand our greatest enemies can become our greatest teachers.

Warriors realize our current struggles will one day become someone else’s survival guide.

We have faced numerous battles.

We have experienced many defeats,

Yet our spirit is not defeated.

Cancer, like any virus, feeds on a sense of dysfunction.

It is often fueled by the many fears that surround any diagnosis.

The fear of the unknown and the frightening possibility of living life without the ones we love.

Although we may fear what’s in front of us,

We continue to push forward fearlessly through faith.

Thank you to all the doctors, nurses, first-responders and other medical professionals on the front-lines.

You are warriors.

You are the reason I am still here.

You are the reason my family is still here.

After all, some must be warriors, so that others may live in peace.

Climbing Beyond Cancer