"Everyone's world doesn't stop turning just because yours does."
My cancer center is located on Georgetown University's campus, so as if going to an oncologist or chemotherapy isn't strange enough, try doing it surrounded by healthy, young, and thriving college students. My favorite activity on days I meet with my oncologist is to get to campus early and go to the Starbucks to knock out some work on my laptop and pretend I'm just another eager, studious college student. It's an odd disassociation exercise, and I'm pretty sure I don't blend in at all... but it's kinda fun.
Yesterday on the way to treatment, Brandon and I noticed there was a lot of traffic, which isn't abnormal for D.C., but as we got closer to the campus, we started to see black robes and caps. It was graduation day! If y'all know me, y'all know other people's success makes me very emotional. So, naturally, I started SOBBING. (Brandon is used to this by now.)
What an odd coincidence: A cancer patient receiving life-saving treatment and a college student ceremonially embarking on a new stage of life on the same campus at the same time.
Whenever you're struck with tragedy, you feel like the whole world should take a moment of silence to recognize your pain or loss—even just for a second. But it doesn't. Everyone's world doesn't stop turning just because yours does. And thank God it doesn't. Thank God the Earth's orbit doesn't hinge on my circumstances... because we would be in some deep mess if it did. Thank God that an attempt to interrupt my happiness or success doesn't put others' joy on pause. Thank God there is still so much good in the world regardless of the tragedy I face.
It's easy to become bitter when disaster strikes. So easy. Before I started treatment, y'all... I was so sick. I was scary sick. I couldn't stand long enough to cook myself a meal (given, I'm stubborn and would just pull up a chair). I couldn't walk down a short hallway without catching my breath, and sometimes, I was too weak to even sit up.
One day around Christmas, I didn't feel too bad, so Brandon and I went through a drive-thru Christmas light event in Bull Run, Virginia. We started the night by visiting our favorite restaurant (shout out to Chili's) and even made a quick run into a Nordstrom Rack. Once we finished the drive-thru portion of the event, there was a little festival at the end of the road. We hesitated at first but found parking close to the gate and decided to go in for a while. It was so cute! We spotted the super long line for funnel cakes, and we both wanted one, but there was no way I could stand in that line. So, I went back to the truck and Brandon endured the long line for some hot, doughy goodness. Looking out the passenger window, I could see the entire festival—the rides, the lights, the people, the games—and could hear all the festival sounds. I wanted to rejoin the fun. But I could also feel my body becoming very weak from our evening and knew I needed to sit for a while. I was sad. And bitter. I've never felt so separated from the world before. I sat with my sadness for a while and in my sadness, I imagined the picture I just described on the other side of my window in black and white. I imagined there being no people, no sounds, so colorful lights... just an abandoned, desolate festival. Is that what I really wanted? Did I really want the color to be drained from the world because of my circumstance? Well, no. Of course I didn't. So, I decided to look out the window a little differently. Instead of being bitter that I couldn't join in on the fun, I thanked God for the joy and fun surrounding me—even if I was just a spectator. It was still a gift.
One of my favorite verses reads...
“So I recommend having fun, because there is nothing better for people in this world than to eat, drink, and enjoy life. That way they will experience some happiness along with all the hard work God gives them under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 8:15
Joy and fun are beautiful gifts from the Father, and I've discovered the healing power of these gifts the past seven months, even on the sidelines. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to be a little bitter. But you'll feel a lot better if you push that bitterness aside and allow God's gifts to soften these feelings. Even though there may be a lot of bad inhabiting your life, there is still a lot of good surrounding it.
Yesterday my room was also right across from the victory bell everyone rings once they finish treatment, and, y'all, it rang TWICE yesterday! A different type of graduation. Man, life is funny.
My chemo graduation day is two weeks from now on June 2. I can't wait.
A graduation. A Christmas festival. A victory bell. Thank you, God, for the joy you've surrounded me with. Thank you for the fun and laughter around me. Thank you that you allowed the world to keep turning, even when I thought it shouldn't.
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