The Blindfolded Obstacle Course

 

    The days and weeks after my diagnosis feel like a dark dream. I was in the height of Christmas preparations, both at school and personally. What was normally my favorite time of year now felt covered in a dark cloud. There was no way I could feel happy.

    Mentally, I felt like I was given the job of completing an obstacle course blindfolded. The job is personal and invasive because I’m blindfolded and I have no idea when it will end. I knew so little about breast cancer and how best to treat it. I had no idea how I was going to continue working or how I was going to afford any of it. I was scared and sad to not be able to do my normal fun things with friends. I worried how my body would respond to it all.

    Nobody wants to spend their Christmas break completing an obstacle course blindfolded (Okay, maybe some of you – but not this obstacle course).
One thing that’s hard is that going through this is not a choice I’m making. Of course, no one would choose this. I felt this more deeply as I was telling my news to my Kindergarten students last week. I communicated with parents before sharing but I felt it was time to be fully honest with my students. They deserved to know why I was having so many absences. And, especially if I lose my hair, they deserve to know what’s up.

    It was an interesting experience telling Kindergarten students that I have cancer. The biggest reaction I got was when I explained that I might lose my hair. To which they all responded, “No! I don’t want you to! I like your hair!” To which I responded, “I don’t want to either but I don’t have a choice. Most times, the medicine makes your hair fall out.”

    Voicing to my students that it’s not my choice whether I lose my hair or not, was another reminder of how not in control I am. I think this is why sometimes I don’t know how to respond to some encouragement. When people tell me that “I am so strong”, I wonder what not being strong would look like. Don’t get me wrong, it is encouraging to be told by people and reminded that I am strong. I just don’t know what the alternative is. I feel like I’m just doing what the doctor tells me to do.

    In the month following my diagnosis, I definitely did not feel strong. I felt very helpless as normalcy was disappearing and the ability to make future plans felt harder and harder. I had no choice but to start this blindfolded obstacle course. No one does. So then, isn’t everyone strong? Everyone faces some sort of trial or hardship in life (at least most everyone). Humans are much stronger than we think.

    I am not saying that I am not strong. Maybe I appear strong because I have been put in a situation that forces me to endure and strength is more evident in adversity. I also think the way we face the blindfolded obstacle course displays our strength. Strength is shown in the moments of crying and feeling the weight of grief. Strength is shown in the moments when we don’t think we can do something but we try anyway. Strength is shown when we find joy in the suffering. Strength is shown when we are honest and vulnerable and encourage others in their blindfolded obstacle courses. Strength is shown when we invite our friends to the obstacle course and play music to make it more enjoyable. Strength is journeying through the obstacle course one day at a time, not giving up. Strength is remaining hopeful.