When I was in high school, my parents got divorced. Or rather began the divorce process. One night, after another fight with my mom, I called my dad and asked him to come get me. I loaded up my red Nike duffel bag and I chose to move out with my dad. I was 15. It took a hot minute (read several months) to find stable housing in which my dad and I could settle down. When we did, our rental house happened to be in Indiana. I happened to go to high school in Kentucky. DuPont Manual is a magnet high school close to downtown where I (code for my parents) applied to attend and students from all over the Louisville area would come to school. I conveniently used our old address where my mom was still living to legally continue going to school at Manual. Each morning, I would drive across the Sherman Minton Bridge while simultaneously eating my cereal on the way to school. I think it is these early morning drives to school where I would perfect my Nascar racing. Or my knee driving while I ate breakfast. It’s a toss-up. But my lead foot was born. Many of my teammates and friends easily lived 30+ minutes away simply because I lived in Indiana. I never minded driving to their houses. I can count on one hand the amount of friends who came all the way to Indiana to come hang out. But I don’t blame them. Most of my friends’ parents would balk at the idea of me living so far away when it was only an extra 10-15 minutes. I adjusted and made-do. Plus, one positive is I got a car very soon after I got my license. Or as my mom referred to a car as “a big killing machine” and if that doesn’t make you excited to begin driving, not sure what will. My first killing machine was a teal 1986 240 DL Volvo which I named Vivian. Vivian the Volvo. If you look up that car on Google, the car is known for being “bulletproof.” It was heavy and ugly. But reliable. I had a crank sunroof that would later leak water during car washes and rain storms and no air conditioning which was super great for those humid Kentucky summer days. But it was freedom. Well, kinda. Mostly it translated as a glorified uber traveling to pick up my younger sister during the divorce proceedings era of my family. I would regularly drive the 40-45 minutes one way to pick up my younger sister for the weekend. We had the best car karaoke. Windows down, Shania Twain blaring and we would be singing with a hair brush in hand (not really sure where the hair brush came from. It was just there in my center console) all while driving parallel to the Ohio River. I learned to have a lead foot because everything was much farther away. 

Many people ask if I’m so excited to be done. I think outwardly I smile but inwardly I am cringing. Done? With what? In what way? Currently, my body is exhausted. I am still struggling to get good sleep. I will wake up in the middle of the night for hours at a time to have a full bowel movement. But that leaves my bum sore and tender. And how long will this last? I have no idea. What did the doctors say? They said two years to equilibrium. It has been three weeks. Any more questions to which I don’t have any good answers? I don’t blame people. These are reasonable questions. I just don’t have any good answers either. Lack of sleep does not help my body heal but my body would heal better if I could sleep. Vicious cycle. Last week my body was feeling so much better so I exercised a bit and I walked and I tried to get back to more movement. Unfortunately, my body was not ready for all of that and this week has been a struggle. While I may look good, my body is weary. It has been a whole year of constant treatments and surgeries and stress. And it’s hard because I don’t want my struggle in this stage of my cancer journey to come across as cynicism because “I’m at the end.” But friends, this is far from over. In some ways this journey to the top of the mountain just revealed another mountain of actual recovery. The years of scans and bloodwork. Of feeling my fingers and feet again. Of figuring out this menopause thing. Of an actual poop. So how am I doing? I will say ok or trying to build up my body. But that is not my truth right now. The truth is I am so bone-tired that I cry most nights on the toilet. I am envious of people at the gym moving their bodies and sweating. I am not sure if I will have the capacity to parent the needs of my three children every day. And the other night I had a horrible dream that Chris wanted to divorce me. That is raw Liz. Maybe because I am sleep deprived and snarky or maybe because I am trying to align myself more to my body: to listen to my body and what it needs. Which means taking my foot off the gas, recovering with intention and being honest. My body needs my truth to be said. Not to cover up and pretend and be at odds to what I am verbally communicating. So ask me how my body is doing. That will produce an honest answer. Asking me how I am doing gets too much of my head involved and often I want to appease with a gentle, safe answer. I KNOW people only want to encourage me and help me and support me. Intentions have never been questioned. Hell, I have probably said similar things to others. But being in my position, I have an opportunity to inform. Cancer doesn’t end when major treatments end. Honestly, I don’t know when it will. Eventually. For now, I am very much in recovery. Very slow recovery. While I cannot wait to get back to all the things, for now, reclaiming my authentic, healthy self looks different than I expected. A holistically healing journey takes more time than I want. Who knew.

Liz