Five.
Typing about this has come to mind several times, really for about six months. It was something to look forward to, something to brag about (in a good way), something to shout from the rooftops about. Then six months ago happened.
I was so looking forward to the opportunity to talk about how I had made it FIVE YEARS since the discovery of my initial brain tumor. How I had made it through two surgeries, seven weeks of radiation + low-dose chemo, and twelve months of high-dose chemo. How I beat the odds and made it to a major post-cancer milestone.
Today would have been that milestone. Five years ago today, incredible doctors precisely took out the portions of a massive brain tumor that they thought were the safest to take out, hopeful that the remainder of the tumor was benign. Five years ago today, the whole shabang started.
But unfortunately, some of today’s celebration was stripped six months ago. It came back. And after a third surgery and some more treatment, today, honestly, doesn’t feel as special.
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Mentally, it has been a fight to try to focus on the good. Even with a relapse, to be here five years after the initial diagnosis is incredible. But at the same time, going through treatment the second time has actively brushed against the positivity that has been a goal through it all.
A main thought has been I only made it four and a half years before cancer decided to attack again.
But I’m still here. I’m still able to use this little ole brain to type out my honest thoughts. I’m still able to drive and work and play Wordle. I’m even still able to watch baseball games, even when my Braves may not win a single game this year.
While emotions ebb and flow on this first five year mark, the good still exists. I am not sad that I was given a cancer diagnosis five years ago; no, in fact, I feel the opposite. I am glad to be able to look back and see how God has used that diagnosis to encourage me to turn more towards Him more and more. And on days where my positivity has waned, I am thankful for the people He has surrounded me with who are holding me up.
I’m thankful for my coworkers, past and present, who have stood in the gap on days that were proven too difficult. I’m thankful for my friends who have continually reached out, checked in, and shown up when needed the most. Most of all, I’m thankful for my family, specifically the rocks of my mom and dad who have held me more times than I can count; I don’t know how I could possibly be standing today without them.
Happy five years since learning you had a brain tumor, Nick. I’m glad you’re still here.
