#wecancervive

This morning I got to see Cheyenne actually wake up and see a new day without being thrown back into the same painful routine she has been so aggressively working to get herself out of the last five days. She woke up and opened her eyes and we began to have our morning talks that we routinely have in bed every morning. This is by far my favorite part of the day and I’ve been deprived of it all week. I finally saw her smile. The second I saw her lips part and make room for her perfect ivory white teeth to illuminate the room, the haunting memories of the past week were fainting away to deeper darker alleys of my memory. It was the most amazing thing in the world. That moment was so precious to me because I had spent this week really in fear that she wasn’t going to get a day to regain her hope and feel her true self again. I mean I knew she wasn’t going to die…I just feared that she would go through this process feeling hopeless every day. Waking up and being thrown back down, over and over. But today I sense a break, a calming energy disguising any sort of pain that is allowing her to slowly regain herself. Slowly think for herself- Which is where all the healing will happen. Finally- A “Day of Hope.” Today I can see it in her eyes - she is so happy to finally be feeling okay. We spent five days in the same room without having a conversation. I’ve had to watch her for signs and pick up on how to help her through the tones of her cries- A language they don’t teach you at any University. This moment was truly a blessing. Our moment to start this day differently- to light a fire under the ticks of each second and etch every minute into our memories filling them with the most real and raw emotions our bodies could possibly create. And to be in front of these emotions before they hit so we can navigate and guide them in a fashion that steers them away from residing negatively, but rather seeing the surface of positivity. So we can create positive memories. Memories that will inspire stories. Stories that will change lives. Lives of those who may wonder one day if they will ever have their “Day of Hope.”

It’s officially been 5 days since Cheyenne underwent her first chemotherapy treatment. Since then she has been in pure pain. I’ve watched her moan through all hours of the night each night. I’ve heard her cry harder and louder than I ever imagined to hear from someone with her type of strength. It’s relatable to the feeling you get from seeing a baby cry with an ear infection. They feel helpless, scared and sad. And you’re left thinking “I wish you could just tell me how to take the pain away!” My first initial instinct when I heard her cry like that was to comfort her, hold her or rub her back. But the pain was so unbearable that she could not even be touched. I had to literally just sit there and watch her pace the room back and forth crying, begging God to make it stop and I could not help her in any way. I then realized how important the power of words are in situations like these. The past five days I have been talking to her even though she’s been too weak to talk back. I remind her, “You’re doing awesome babe.”, “I am so proud of you.” “Keep it up, I know it hurts but you’re doing so amazing so far.” “Another day down baby!” Not being able to even hold her hand makes it difficult to truly express that compassion. I was completely confused as to what I needed to do. So I shifted my focus and refined my communication in hopes that she can feel some sort of support in my voice. That’s all I have as a form of help at this point. Except for the basics- feeding her, making sure she drinks, checking her temperature, and making sure she’s taking her medication on time. (Let me just say when you’re taking several medications and you need to take them in a timely fashion- It becomes an actual job to remember the timing- the doses- even the order in which meds need to be taken first.) I never had the desire to be a nurse even when my mom attempted to persuade me to follow her footsteps. I’ve always been more of a verbal healer- nothing close to a medicine man. Until now.

Cheyenne was given an injection in addition to her Chemotherapy called Neulasta. I spent some time researching the side effects of this drug. Hoping to find recognizable symptoms in the stories of survivors- and that is exactly what I found.  Mostly every person says the same thing- It’s the worst pain they’ve ever felt in their life. I read numerous horror stories of pain like knifes stabbing them in between toes and the wrinkles of their eye lids, underneath their fingernails….Pain in areas we could never image. I learned that the first round is ALWAYS hell. Many people have been rushed to the ER and been given a Morphine drip or even a prescription for Dilaudid to ease the pain through round one. This drug is used to regulate the white blood cell count throughout Chemotherapy. White blood cells are created in the bone marrow- Imagine twisting a wet towel… The towel is her bones and the water dripping out are the white blood cells. The bucket underneath represents survival. Our goal- To always keep the bucket more than half way full.

We got to sit up and actually talk. She shared with me the things that were going through her mind throughout the week. I just kept thinking to myself, “Wow, It’s so weird to see her up and actually talking with real facial expressions rather than the face of pain.” She constantly had her face scrunched up the entire week. Her eyes remained closed the entire time and she could only open them to peak through before the light forced her to shut them again. She constantly looked as if she was trying to push the pain out mentally. She told me how she really thought that she was going to die. She thought that this pain and everything that comes with it is just too much and she could not imagine having to go through this five more times. She wondered why this is happening to her. She cried talking to me about the thoughts that were going through her mind, and I told her how amazing it was to see her sitting up in bed talking with me right now. To actually see her being able to be herself again. Seeing her eyes following mine with a genuine connection behind them, and seeing the way she’s able to move her hands again to intensify her words. The tones in her voice carried weight today. I reminded her of the things that were so amazing about this very moment. Even though talking about the past week was making her sad - She was back. I didn’t think about how long this would last. I was too busy expanding the depth of this exchange like a rubber band and burning it into my memory since I do not know when it will snap and she will start feeling sick again.

Going to work this morning was the hardest thing of my life. It almost seemed unfair. I spent my entire weekend on the bedside with her and finally the day where I can actually spend some real time with her- I have to work. Although it seems unfair, I keep the bigger picture in mind- It is so important for the other areas in our lives to stay stable while all this is going on. And now that we have our own place I need to make sure I keep myself focused with work. Each opportunity that allows me to be a better person in my job is rooted from a foundational goal we both share – To create a beautiful, successful life together. We face so many opportunities each day as individual women in our own separate lives that could be beneficial for us, for the kids, - For OUR team. So I keep my ears and eyes peeled for opportunities that will lead to growth, and my focus strong with everything I do in relationship to my career – Now is the time to step up. Now is not the time to break.

Keeping this balance has been very hard but I keep her on my mind every moment of the day. Throughout the day I feel a type of excitement that I used to only feel as a child. It’s different than the excitement I used to feel when I would be coming home to her. This new excitement is filled with every emotion that ties to the deepest love you could imagine. As much as this is all so unfortunate, I do see an underlying beauty in this all. The way we love each other has already been something so magical. We both wonder all the time- How is this real? It is so organic and so natural and so strong. We’re truly are best friends, family, and lovers all in one. And now that life has thrown us into the world of the unknown- we are treading new waters hand in hand and still finding moments in between the moans and groans to look at each other even if it’s for a split second and exchange that look that says, “I’ve got your back. Don’t worry.” And that’s something that is reciprocated both ways.  She reminds me I’m not alone even in her moments of weakness. She reminds me this fight is for us and she’s got it- For OUR team.

She came downstairs with me while I got my things ready for work. It was so amazing to see my father’s reaction as he saw her coming down the stairs. He had gotten so used to seeing her sick in bed. He smiled ear to ear and was filled with pure joy. “Wow!! You look like a brand new person.” He spent a year by my mother’s side as she fought Stage 4 Colon Cancer. He stood outside her door as she vomited- giving her space while offering support. He put on her socks each night as she slept to keep her feet warm. He cried himself to sleep on the nights she was too weak to talk with him, and he crossed the finish line to recovery with her hand in hand. The man knows a “Day of Hope” when he sees one and seeing Cheyenne normal touched his heart in a way that his happiness could not be shielded. His smile alone spoke words to my heart, “There you go girls!! You’re doing it!” The moment we found out about the diagnoses both my parents’ hearts naturally attached themselves to this situation. They’ve jumped into this with open arms - willing to open up their home as the place for recovery, share their knowledge of the medical field and their stories from pure experience. My mom shares her experiences with cancer as a survivor and her stories of the horrors of chemotherapy with Cheyenne. While my father teaches me the best ways to keep the hopes up in someone that you love and the importance of the power of words. The bond between my parents and Cheyenne has been a very important part of our relationship that we have always made a progressive effort to focus on. Having them involved in this means everything to the both of us. Especially to Cheyenne, who like many of us has family in many different places making it difficult for them be here throughout each and every moment. I hope we can continue to fill this gap anytime she may feel an uncomfortable increase of blank space.

I think about the day Cheyenne will have at my house. Having tea with my Mother and watching TV with my Grandmother, and spending time bonding with them. I am reminded again of the silver lining- the underlying beauty I see in this situation. The bonds that are being built. I imagine my mom taking care of Cheyenne- offering a special form of care. The type that will balance the acts of being a mother, a cancer survivor, and a nurse so perfectly for Cheyenne that she will receive the care of a professional, feel the hope of a cancer survivor, all while still feeling the warmth of a mother. As hard as it still is to leave them all for the day, I can leave happy knowing that in the midst of this unfortunate situation- Good things can, and still are happening.