No Different...

I know it's been an eternity *for those of you especially devoted followers* since I posted last and to you, I apologize. I can't truthfully say that I'm sorry to not of written, as in all honesty, I have written--incomplete entries and thoughts that will maybe only ever appear in my someday-book--but I will say that not writing a bonafide entry has been a nice break for me.

A break from my computer screen.
And a break from cancer--at least in blogging form.

This past three-day/holiday weekend, Aaron and I--somewhat spontaneously *something we've decided we need to do a lot more often these days*--planned out a little cost-friendly family excursion to southern Oregon. Our destination? The Oregon Caves. What else we might do on our trip *besides use some free hotel points up for one night away* was up to creative and free exploration. The nature walk and historic-site visits that ensued from this approach are a few of what we hope to be many, many more future 'blissful min-vacas!' For once, we actually came back feeling rested and rejuvenated. In fact, ending it was the hardest part and led to an impromptu movie-night of 'Back to the Future part I' because it was just too hard to let the responsible work-week come back, again.
In reflecting back on it these past couple days, I found myself feeling 'blissed out' by all the memories we made with our two little sons--and then it dawned on me--the best part? It was 'cancer free!'
Yes indeed. We climbed into our little 40-mile-to-the-gallon Mazda hatchback and drove *well, Aaron drove* away... packed to the brim, happy as clams... even the boys were using remarkably good manners and kind interactions with one another due to their excitement and anticipation of fun and freedom with their parents.
Cancer was not a part of our weekend.
Sure, on some of our multiple hiking excursions I was reminded of the damage that chemo has done to my heart and lungs. Absolutely no doubt that permanent damage was caused as I never had such out-of-breath/elephant-on-chest problems like I do now.
Yes, people *especially kids* stared extra long or took the usual double-takes at my baby head-of-hair.
Of course these things all remind me of it... but other than those instances...
we were, as a four-some, cancer-free.

Since being hair-less, everywhere I go in my normal daily life here...I am 'special.' It doesn't matter whether I'm just getting gas at the gas-station, or running to the store for a few quick staples at the end of a busy day--the smiles, the head-nods, and sometimes even the blatant comments--all well-intentioned, of course.

For the first few months I have to admit, it was kind of fun--especially being that many people even knew my name and story from seeing me all over our small-town news and newspapers. But as the months passed, I just became 'that random woman over there who's obviously fighting cancer.' I have to admit that in my most twisted and perhaps slightly bored moments, I find myself intrigued by the notion of holding an experiment with this 'phenomena.' 

Yes. 

Taking a select amount of people, shaving their heads and sending them out into populated areas while videoing passerby responses. Maybe... even going so far as to having the 'baldies' do different things just to see what things others are willing to 'allow' because, well, 'she's fighting cancer so that's acceptable.' 

Can you imagine??!

No. I'm not going to go rent a chicken-suit, show up at our local Freddies, stand in front of the customer service counter with my bald head out in the open *to prove my point* and bark like a dog as loud as possible at everyone in line--as fun as that sounds. ;)
(Sure, the drugs have warped my brain, no arguing, but not that badly, ha!) BUT, I do often wonder how long something like that would be allowed under the guise of the 'cancer card.'

I'm not sure I'll ever understand why we, as people, do that---we care so much about people when we see them struggling or raise them up as an idol after they die. I know it's of course empathy and genuine concern and don't for one minute think I'm talking that down, as it's blessed me greatly in many cases... but especially in scenarios with perfect strangers something I wonder if maybe it's partially a reflection of our naivety of our personal mortality. Sometimes I just want to say--to that stranger who dramatically interacts with me in the checkout line about 'my cancer'--'You know.. you're no different than I am... it's only that the reality-check of my mortality is on my doorstep while yours is still on the cross-country bus. I love what one of my doctors at OHSU said about this very subject, early on.. 'There is a 100% chance that we are all going to die. It's not a question of if--but of when and how.'

I gained a hefty dose of perspective *again* on this a couple week's ago when this video was circulated around Facebook.
http://www.upworthy.com/this-kid-just-died-what-he-left-behind-is-wondtacular-rip?g=2

Yes. I made the mistake of watching it, by myself, late at night when I couldn't sleep due to all my lovely hot-flashes and 'cancer dreams'--but even still, I was clear on what was to gain from his story, and one particular phrase he used that resounded over and over for me *since obviously this subject has been weighing on me for quite some time now* was, 'You don't have to find out you're dying to start living.'

YES! Thank you, Zach!!!
I have said time and time again that I feel almost desperate to infuse the 'wisdom' I now have *post cancer-diagnosis* onto those around me who seem to be continually living invisibly--or convinced they are, anyway.  I frantically search the words of my heart, desperate to find the right ones that will encompass this important lesson.
Well, leave it an 18-yr-old *whom God was obviously using as an awesome vessel* cause I am completely unable to say it any better.

I tell you all now...
you and I are NO DIFFERENT.
You may not have cancer... but you are still dying. Every day you are one step closer to your last day of this life. Who knows if that day is today? Or if it's in fifty-one more years?
That's the catch. WE DON'T. None of us do.

NONE OF US.

Sure, I may be more obviously mortal by physical appearance, but I have no less promise of life than you. Hence, I believe Zach was a very wise young soul to advise us all to start living. 
And for those of you who haven't started living for Christ? DO IT NOW.

As I was telling my son and his little friends just tonight during bible-study... you have two choices:
Live this life and die forever.
OR
Live this life, die and LIVE FOREVER.

I don't know about you, but for me, that is a no brainer.


So the next time you see me *or any other less-than-healthy-looking person who reminds you of mortality--don't forget--you are just as much a part of the simple equations of this life as any of the rest~