The Big Five

The slow arrival of spring marks a big anniversary for me: five years ago I was diagnosed with a rare, incurable cancer.

Sometimes it feels as though no time has passed at all, but most days I can hardly remember ABC (Abby Before Cancer, duh).  Cancer has affected literally everything about my life: my marriage, my family, my friends, my job, my bank account, my aspirations, my body, my mental health, the choices I make, the food I eat, my politics and community participation, how I approach and interact with others and the world in general... everything.  Some changes are visible and obvious (blonde hair, big scars, bigger hospital bills), while others have been more subtle (a hand soap scent that triggers instant nausea and anxiety).

To be clear, I have not been in remission for five years; I've had a treatment or procedure requiring a trip to the hospital at least once every year (see past posts if you're really curious).  But way back when I originally asked what to expect long-term, I was told that "we have to get through this year before we can get to two.  We have to get to two years before we can get to five."  I didn't truly grasp what that meant at the time beyond doctor-speak logic, but now I know: my doctors were telling me they didn't know if I would still be alive a year later.  They didn't know if I would live past two years, let alone five years.  Most people with synovial sarcoma don't live very long, because it can be aggressive, and it's rare, and there is no known cure.  That's how serious this cancer is.  That's why this five year anniversary is so significant to me.  And that's why we pulled out all the stops to celebrate it.

Waimea Canyon State Park, Kauai

Last year around this time, I realized I was about to enter my 5th year of cancerhood.  Instead of lamenting over my past hardships, I wanted to honor the milestone as an acknowledgement of perseverance and celebration of life.  I wanted to travel (let's be honest, I always want to travel).  But I didn't want to travel anywhere with an agenda - no visiting people, no weddings, no conferences, no ulterior motives.  I wanted to be selfish; after all, this trip was about my survival.  I wanted to go somewhere just because.  I have a goal to see all 50 states, so why not try for one of the tough ones?  After a brief flirtation with Alaska, Tom convinced me it wouldn't be an ideal trip with a toddler.  With a wink and a promise of a future date with the 49th state, we set our sights on the other hard-to-get-to state: Hawaii.

Hanauma Bay Nature Reserve, Oahu

After about 30 seconds of Googling Hawaiian sites, I realized I might have to back down on the "no visiting people" thing a little bit.  My cancer touched many people's lives - not just my own - and I wanted to honor that as well, and how great would it be to experience a tropical paradise along side the people who have helped me get through the past 5 years??  So I encouraged friends and family to consider joining us on our adventure.  Many people showed a real interest in coming with us, but let's be honest, it's really far away, and it costs a ton of money, ain't nobody got time - or cash - for that.  However, we were thrilled that my parents - Lady Wiggles's Grandma and Grandpa - were able to join us for almost the entire trip.  And let me tell you, when you're traveling with a toddler, having grandparents around is positively priceless.

The only group selfie we got... nailed it.  Maha'ulepu Heritage Trail, Kauai

The whole trip was truly amazing.  It's fairly impossible to sum it up in a paragraph, but I don't like being told what I can't do, so Imma do it anyway.

We spent a few days on Oahu, doing the city-tourist thing on Waikiki beach, then we flew to Kauai and did the country-tourist thing in Poipu.  We swam, ate, snorkeled, ate, walked, ate, hiked, and then ate (did I mention we ate a few times?).  We saw turtles, endangered monk seals, hundreds of birds, a bajillion fish, and a cubic buttload of wild chickens and roosters.  I ate fresh fish at almost every meal (I'll be chowing down ahi shoyu poke bowls in my dreams for months), local fruits at every other meal, and maybe guzzled a few mai tais or ten.  We hiked into "Hawaii's Grand Canyon" where we could see untouched red-dirt mountains, lush rain forest, a 800 foot waterfall, and the wide Pacific ocean all in one view.  We spent an entire day on the beach watching Lady Wiggles splash herself into a giggling frenzy, while I collected a sunburn of epic proportions.  We listened to (ok, I encouraged) an enthusiastic lecture about the Hawaiian economy and housing crisis from a single-mom-working-3-jobs taxi driver.  I read 3 books over the course of a week.  And I didn't think about anything else but what was in front of me for the entire week.  It was glorious.

Smith Family Gardens, Kapaa, Kauai

Waikiki Beach coast, Oahu

Waikiki beach sunset, Oahu

Poipu Beach Park sunset, Koloa, Kauai

 Maha'ulepu Heritage Trail, Kauai

Poipu Beach, Koloa, Kauai

On our flights home, with Lady Wiggles fitfully sleeping sprawled across our laps, I started thinking about writing this post.  Clearly, by the looks of this blog, these past five years have given me a lot to think about.  Of course cancer has smashed apart or chipped away some pieces of me over time, but in some ways cancer has also allowed me to widened my point of view and encompass more of the world: I'm more willing to take risks, to talk about uncomfortable things, to push myself into something that scares me, to actively pursue something I really want.  At the same time, I have become a master at compartmentalizing and I am consciously adjusting my priorities, throwing out the excess to focus on what is - capital I - Important.  I'm learning to put my limited energy into just a few things so I can do them well and I'm more willing to concede something that isn't working.  I'm getting better at prioritizing my time with the people whom I truly enjoy.

It's cliche, but it's true: I've learned a lot in the past five years, and every year has brought a different lesson.  This year I learned that balancing teaching, parenting, and my health is unsustainable.  I used to love teaching art, I even looked forward to going to work in the morning.  Watching children learn is fascinating, and making art with them is intoxicating.  But that joy and inspiration has dwindled significantly since Lady Wiggles was born.  Now, I watch her in fascination and awe, while I pour every ounce of energy I have into her well-being.  Then I get up the next day and I have less and less enthusiasm and energy for my students.  I hold myself to a high professional standard, and this year I have felt myself slip farther and farther from my expectations.  If you know me at all, then you know that I feel this is unacceptable.

So next year I will not be returning to teaching and will instead try my hand at being a full-time stay-at-home Mom and focusing on keeping myself as healthy as possible.  Just the fleeting idea of not having to think about day care schedules - not to mention curriculum, classroom management, parent involvement, materials management, grading, art shows, etc. - instantly takes a weight off my shoulders.  I am acutely aware of my privilege, and I am grateful that we are fortunate enough to make this decision.  I am looking forward to taking fun field trips with Lady Wiggles, being more involved with my local parent community, and hopefully spending a little more time on my own art.  Then again, I do have the tendency to over-schedule myself, so we'll see.  Maybe I'll let you know in another five years.  In the meantime, I'm going to take a moment to remember what it was like to walk on the beach, by myself, in Hawaii, and watch the sun rise.

Poipu Beach sunrise, Koloa, Kauai