“I was 22 years old when I started testing for cancer. I was so young that reflecting back I realize how I didn’t even really know it at the time. Doctors would tell me let’s do this test, then this type of test, choosing very carefully in words what we were actually testing for. I remember tricking my technician and saying ‘so how’s that tumor looking like?’ just to confirm that I indeed had a tumor.
‘You have synovial sarcoma,’ my oncologist said. ‘It’s a rare, 1 in a million chance of getting this type of cancer in your right mandible. It’s about the size of a golf ball. You’ll have to extract the tumor with clear margins, meaning half of your jaw would be removed and reconstructed, using bone from your leg. You’ll be recovering for more than a year, so plan ahead to pause from school. Keep in mind you’ll have to learn how to eat, walk, and talk again and do 6 weeks of radiation post surgery.’
My world came shattering to say the least! I had a boyfriend at the time of 2 years. (Married him!) I had a little sister, and a mom and dad working overtime to put us both through college. Nothing in this was fair for them, and certainly wasn’t fair for me. I turned 23 a few days after that news, and tried really hard to picture what my life would look like. Dreaming of a future was short and narrow when I could hardly see my survival within the next year.
But now, nine years have passed since that day, that surgery, that treatment. I’m 32 now. I actually write this at City of Hope hospital, waiting for a check up appointment with one of my surgeons. My visits here are frequent, but for the most part have been positive. I’ve been cancer free since.
Still, what has come after cancer I could not prepare for. My surgery and my radiation treatment in the neck has snowballed into other conditions: stubborn gum disease, back issues, asymmetry in my facial structure, physical disabilities in my legs, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, Hashimitos Thyroiditis, difficulty conceiving, one miscarriage. I am at some kind of medical appointment once a week, and it’s been like this for years.
I was to once believe that my 20’s and 30’s was my blank canvas to paint. I have certainly felt robbed of a paintbrush many times in my life through all these things. I am grateful to know the Lord and His providence over my life and sufferings. I credit the time I spent gazing and pondering Jesus’ suffering and redemptively uniting it to mine. I felt His grace in all my recoveries from cancer. I felt it the day my baby’s heartbeat stopped. I know now, nine years later, it will continue to be my anchor in all things.
I am definitely within reason to live victimized by my affliction. But like many others with illnesses and conditions they cannot control, we all have designed purpose to fulfill– sometimes even within the affliction itself. I’m proud to be in the company of this platform and the ones who share their stories here. It is their stories that tell the strength of the many others unspoken, and the many others unseen.
My quality of life is a choice everyday, and some days are better than others. But my choice is to seek my offering every single day. My canvas, still vague in appearance, holds great potential with the brush back in my hand.”
Meesa
