“Today was a good day,” I think to myself as I pull into my drive way. It was also a busy day, first as an occupational therapy patient and then as a physician examining patients. As I walk up the paver path to my front door, wearing scrubs and with protective gear looped over my shoulder, I am thinking about what it takes to finally be OK after cancer.
The day started with some good news. My hand therapist feels I have made great progress. After 5 weeks of twice weekly therapy appointments for my broken hand, she feels I have graduated to self-management. I have one more therapy check-in two weeks from now and then I will be discharged from care. This is a relief. These appointments were necessary, but also a frequent and heavy burden.
What followed was several hours of busy clinic time. After clinic I was pleased to see an old friend and colleague, and stayed afterwards to catch up. We chatted about life, my broken hand, and his new research projects. Eventually the conversation wound its way back to my cancer, as most conversations after a diagnosis of cancer usually do.
I know this particular friend cares deeply for me and was curious but also very cautious, not wanting to hurt or offend. He asked me honestly how I was doing. I say honestly because I could tell he was prepared if the answer was “not good”. He wasn’t looking for a positive, white-washed answer. He wanted to know the real deal.
I was surprised to find myself saying, “I’m finally OK.” And I was even more surprised to find that I meant it. I followed it with, “Don’t stand too close, I’m a disaster magnet!” I said these words jokingly, without even a hint of sadness or bitterness. What a change.
Our conversation turned towards my future plans and my new job. We spoke of letting go and mindset changes. I found myself explaining that I was in a transition period and have gone through a huge change of mind and spirit. To be honest, the changes in me are so great I often wonder if my friends will still like the “new me”. It is one of the reasons I have avoided seeing some of them (but that is for another day).
This major transition starts with my career. I am a pulmonary critical care doctor. This is how I define myself. This is connected to my very core. This career has driven every single life choice for the past two decades and it has been a very hard mind-change to realize that critical care no longer serves me. I know it is time to let go. Easier said than done.
Accepting that it is time for a change has been very difficult. Considering leaving the culture and mind set of the ICU is like considering leaving the military. Feelings are complex and intermingled with guilt, self-identity, and self-worth.
In a couple months I will start a job that is entirely pulmonary…no critical care, no emergencies, no death at all. It leaves me feeling hopeful that maybe there will be a time when I actually enjoy my work again instead of feeling beat down and constantly defeated. This new job will allow for self-care and that is quite a change.
True, I will make less because my hours will be shorter, but the upside to my massive loss of income during cancer is that now I know how much I actually need to live on…and it is far less than I ever thought. I spent a lifetime worried I wouldn’t have enough money but then when I actually lost the income, I found out that the income I had convinced myself I needed was simply a random number I had come up with. And now I am ok without it.
Maybe it was based on pride or maybe it was what society told me I needed. I ran myself into the ground with work that hurt me physically, emotionally, and spiritually just to hit a target income. Cancer took that income away and showed me how unnecessary it actually was. The new me is ok with making less and liking my work more. Life is short and precious, I can no longer justify being miserable.
Afterwards, as I thought back to our conversation, I was genuinely surprised at how at peace I seemed to be. But it wasn’t only that I seemed at peace, but I actually WAS at peace. And it is true. I have finally found some inner stillness. The hurricane has, at least temporarily, stopped blowing. I have at least for the moment found a temporary footing. Today, I’m ok.
I know these feelings will be temporary, but now I find myself praying not for the end to the challenges but for the strength to endure them. The setbacks and challenges will come. Of this I have no doubt. In the beginning I thought, “If I can just get past (insert any setback) then this will all be behind me and the (insert any bad thing) will end.” It was a form of bargaining. Now, I accept this challenging and difficult post-cancer way of living and simply pray for strength to endure.
I am seeing changes in myself. Today my conversation with a friend unmasked a change in my mindset I didn’t even realize was there. I can only imagine what changes will come. I’m finally ok. I like the sound of that. I’m ok…I’m finally ok. And it will be ok when I’m not ok again, but here’s to hoping I stay ok for awhile.
