At the risk of sounding like a bimbo, I am terrible with directions. Right after college, I got a part-time job driving cars. I would bring customers a rental car and pick up their car to bring to the dealership for service. Not hard. Except if (and when) I got lost. I was still learning the major roads of Indianapolis and this was before Google maps and the ease of directions today. Mapquest and the 14 subsequent pages of directions were the new thing. One step up from the ginormous Rand McNally maps my parents would spread out across the front dash during our drive to New York. When I would call my boss for help because, shocker, I was lost, he would tell me some gibberish like 70 East to 465 North. Umm, what? Ok, Lewis and Clark. I am no Sacagawea. Eventually, I would manage to find my way and bring the car back to the dealership. It should not be a surprise but I soon chose to look for a different part-time job. Even several years later, during our dating years, I had to clarify my direction abilities (or lack thereof) to Chris. He learned to give me directions in terms of landmarks. When I was a teacher at North Central High School, he would give me directions like away from the Keystone mall or towards the mall. Or turn right at the Marathon gas station next to the Kroger. And thankfully, technology makes it easy for me to not get too lost. Now the joke is I prefer Apple maps instead of Google maps. What can I say? I’m a lost cause. 

It has taken me awhile to articulate these last couple of days. I had my scope on Tuesday. The surgeon came out and talked to Chris because I was recovering from anesthesia. Chris and I were in the car on the way home from the hospital when he shared the news: while the tumor has shrunken significantly, there are still cancer cells present. I stared out the window. Tears welling. So we know the next steps: surgery on November 25th. Oof. This has been a hard reality to process. Surgery is a guarantee. I had hoped observations would have been the option. Less invasive. Less harm to my body. Less pain. But that is not my road. And I am angry. And frustrated. And disappointed. I’d like a break from my life. I’d like a break from cancer. I didn’t realize how confident I was that I could eliminate the cancer cells with my metabolic approach to chemotherapy and maybe not have a colostomy bag. The idea if I try hard enough, if I work hard enough, good results will come. Did the tumor significantly shrink? Yes! Is the biopsy the result I wanted? No. I used to have this moralistic belief there is a purpose in our pain. But, through my cancer journey, I believe pain is sometimes just pain. There doesn’t always have to be a lesson learned or truth uncovered. Suffering reminds us we live in a broken world. I still have so many questions as to how I got cancer or why I got cancer, even 8 months later. Sometimes, there are no answers to our questions. It requires me to live in the gray. I want things to be black and white but most of life is balancing between the two. After several days of grieving my disappointment, anger and a range of other emotions (read lots of tears, some screaming, exercise and therapy), my body is calm. I am more calm. I can talk about a colostomy bag without tears threatening to spill. Progress. The next step will be surgery with a colostomy bag. Surgery will have a 4-6 day stay in the hospital and then a 4-6 week recovery at home. Those are just ballpark numbers. Details will come. And while I may not know all the details, the directions are clear and we will continue moving forward in pursuit of perfect health.

Liz