Diagnosis: Afterparty

Everything is moving at a breakneck speed; I’m currently recovering from yesterday’s liver biopsy while simultaneously preparing for tomorrow’s colonoscopy. My outlook just keeps getting better. Life is getting more normal by the minute. Since Jimmy has been my frontline soldier jumping right into the trenches with me, I treated him to a super hearty home cooked breakfast. Only in hindsight was that a bad move, as my appetite is back in full force and I’m on a jello and broth diet today for colonoscopy prep. I’m already planning tomorrow’s post-colonoscopy feast, and I worked a full day today. 

I’ve avoided jumping into cancer literature, because I’ve assumed it to be melancholy narrative with a learning curve on resilience. I don’t want to read about other people being scared or worried- because I’m not. Should I be? I don’t want to be influenced to step out of my cocoon of optimism I’ve so carefully crafted. I have an innate understanding that everyone’s cancer journey is different, but I’m still under the delusion that my journey is going to be the most unique of all. Which could be another subconsious reason I started this blog as quickly as I did- to be my own resource. Not to say I’m being cavalier about all of this, or I expect it to be quick or easy. I’m ready for an uphill battle. Anyone I’ve run with knows I love a good hill, so that tracks. But again, there’s nothing productive or good for my mental health in trying to picture the battle ahead of time. I’ve started to keep a note on my phone with my favorite jokes myself and others have made about cancer so far; I’m stockpiling the optimism for when I need it in the future.

I’ve done a great job of keeping my social media algorithms “normal” and “cancer free” as well. Until today, I got an ad for hoodie with zippers for ports and IVs. “Cool!” I said to myself. Bookmarked it and moved on. Did I mention it’s the 25th anniversary of Destiny’s Child “Survivor?” I love these little signs from the universe.

Then I read Emily Abbate’s newsletter. Emily is one of my favorite podcasters; her pod “Hurdle” is chock full of running content, Olympian and Peloton instructor interviews, with a hard focus on women in sport. Her newsletter came out on Friday, but I (understandably) had yet to read it. A snippet that really spoke to me:

“A really powerful thought for me is that resilience isn’t a destination. Being a resilient person doesn’t mean that you never feel weak again. It means that you’re cognizant that you have the ability to shorten the distance between the spiral and the shift. Every time I catch myself in a victim mindset and choose a micro-win instead, I’m not just solving a problem — I’m strengthening a muscle.”

The rest of the newsletter was full of nuggets that she probably had no idea someone who just got a cancer diagnosis could easily relate to. The parasocial parallelism didn’t stop there.

While standing in line at the grocery store ready to purchase tomorrow’s post-colonoscopy feast, I saw an Instagram post. Ali Feller, host of podcast “Ali on the Run,” another favorite of mine, and someone who’s been very publicly battling cancer, posted an Instagram photo and caption about World Cancer Day. I’m on Day 5 of cancer, and I’m already dropping the ball on awareness that it’s World Cancer Day. Here I am, determined not to connect to other’s stories (at least, not yet) but the universe seems hellbent on showing me what’s out there. Although our journeys are already different, her caption felt like it was coming out of my brain. She spoke about The After, and living in The After. That’s where I’m planning on being eventually as well, I know that place already.

I commented, and she graciously took the time to write me a beautiful response (@aliontherun1 for the interaction) Perhaps there is a community out there for me after all. Perhaps what others have to say about their journeys may not be as alien as I originally assumed. Perhaps this identity of “someone with cancer” isn’t as suffocating as I originally thought. I’m still not ready to jump head first into the world of cancer stories an op-eds quite yet, but when I do I can already see the hands of everyone waiting to catch me.