When a person hears the words, “You have cancer,” there is an overwhelming rush of thoughts that include, disbelief, confusion, shock, and many more descriptors. However, once the shock has been worked through, reality sets in, and you immediately go into survival mode to find answers. The waiting is a horrible period, and before Lyn had her first oncology appointment, my mind kept going to very dark places. As much as I would like to say I was at peace in those early days, I was not. Yes, peace eventually came, but in the beginning, it was a struggle.
In speaking with many people going through illness over the years, there is a common word used, as they describe their journey. I have found that the word, “hope,” is used nearly every time. As others have gone through medical treatment, or they walked alongside their friend or loved one, they mention how important it was to have hope.
The word “hope” was important to us as well. We needed hope. We had our faith, and in previous posts I described Lyn’s faith as “unshakable.” It truly was unshakeable. I wrote about it in Blog Post #12. I noted the following as we waited for the oncologist:
“As we sat there, we prayed that God would once again give us strength, and that the doctor would give us hope to be able to treat this terrible type of cancer.”
What did a picture of hope look like to us? Simply put, we wanted to hear a message that her condition had treatment options. We were not looking for any kind of guarantee, but moreover, just a message that there was a possibility of treating her cancer. We needed something that would help us to be optimistic, and hopeful.
As the medical journey began, we had hope, because the doctor gave us a message that while things were serious, there was a possible pathway to beating cancer. Were the odds favorable? Not at all, since we were dealing with stage-four lung to brain metastatic melanoma cancer.
However, we were not asking the doctor for survival odds—we were asking for hope. Lyn needed something to make going through cancer treatment worth it. While we had our faith, having faith was more of an eternal anchor, and something we held on to for the future. Hope was for her present life on earth, that created the desire in Lyn to want to battle the horrible disease.
In the blog post noted above, I wrote the following:
“I realize some might think, “What good was your faith in God, the prayers, or even the treatment, because your wife still passed away?”
Indeed, we had hoped and prayed for a different outcome. We had our faith, but hope and faith are two drastically different things in the overall journey. Again, faith is about the eternal outlook, while hope is for today.
Hope brings optimism. We needed optimism to keep pushing forward. I have heard others express nearly the same thing about their journey. If there is no optimism, then why go through the treatment? We needed the positivity of optimism because the pathway was very uncertain. During her treatment, there were times when death was possible, so it was the hope which provided strength to keep fighting.
There were many times in the journey when the thought of death crept in. Thoughts of death were not due to a lack of faith, but because we were only human. This is where hopes of beating cancer collided with the reality of the situation. When hope and reality collide, it is actually healthy to contemplate the two possibilities—life and death. When we addressed the elephant in the room, it gave a level of peace to Lyn.
We remained positive and hopeful, but the truth was that it might not end in the healing we hoped for. In reality, it made Lyn feel better to talk about all aspects, such as treatment, emotions, the future, and even death. But it was also important to tap into the hope side of things to remain optimistic, because we know from a multitude of studies, that patients that remain optimistic, and have a level of hope, respond to treatment more favorably.
When we talked to Lyn’s oncologist, we needed “hope,” and hope is what we received. Receiving a message of hope brought sunshine to a dark situation. However, at some point in the journey we also had to be realists that there was not much we could do about the cancer, and we had to hand that worry over to God and the medical team.
When hope and reality collide, it is the opportunity to prepare for a possible scenario that leads to the end. While this sounds depressing and sad, it is the brains method of caring for itself. The patient and family have already contemplated the possibility of death, so one may as well talk about it. Personally, if I would have tried to block out the possibility of Lyn’s passing, it would have failed. We fully understood that death was a possibility, and we talked openly about it.
While the disease did in fact take her life, living with hope, while at the same time facing reality, was an important part in her battle. Lyn appreciated not trying to pretend that everything would be alright, and she would be healed. Sometimes just talking about what is tucked down deep brings peace, because it lets loose of stress. Also, by being honest with one another, it helped me after her passing, because I knew we did all we could do. Knowing we did all we could, helped me in the grief, grief recovery process, and freed me to keep moving forward in life.
While I can certainly appreciate that most people want and need positive vibes, we also need to live in reality. We can have all the faith and hope in the world. We can be optimistic. We can be positive. But sometimes we do not have control over the situation. It may be painful to contemplate reality, but if we do not allow hope and reality to clash at times, it creates anxiety, because denying reality only masks the internal conflict that is hidden in our minds.
Often, the person going through the treatment actually desires to have a healthy discussion on what is really happening, but does not make this known. In an effort to help support the struggling family or friends, the patient may not speak up in an effort to foster a happy and positive environment. But down deep, many patients want to discuss what is truly going on, as they think about their own mortality. In other words, the patient has reached a level of living in reality, but that reality is uncomfortable for others, so honest discussion is sometimes avoided.
Many times, friends and family want to live only in the hope side of life, and this is perfectly natural. They want the best for their loved one, and want to give them hope. This is also beautiful, because they love and care about their friend and loved one. However, speaking from personal experience, focusing on both hope and reality are needed.
If you see my previous posts, I spend a lot of time talking about the grief process. As the caregiver, the grief process doesn’t start at the date of death. Yes, the grief is much different when the end comes, but the overall grief starts on day one of diagnosis. So, living in reality, while having hope, gave us what we needed.
We had the hope to carry on, and this helped Lyn battle, while the reality allowed our family to be better prepared for an end-of-life scenario. This also allowed Lyn to talk through what life would look like for me, and the need to keep moving forward in life if she could not defeat cancer on this side of sunshine. One of Lyn’s concerns was the wellbeing of her family, if she didn’t make it. Living in reality actually helped Lyn, and gave her a sense of peace because she was able to speak about the obvious—“I am very ill, and I may not make it.” This is where the faith kicked in, because faith was her eternal anchor.
Living with hope and addressing reality allowed my mind to think about my future, and what life might look like going forward. By facing reality, and thinking about all the possibilities, it allowed me to be better prepared emotionally, move forward in life, have healthy grieving, and move toward healing. It was our faith that anchored us to eternity. It was the hope that helped us to have daily optimism. It was addressing reality that prepared us for the end.