Why aren’t doctors direct with us when it comes to a terminal diagnosis? Without a realistic view of the situation, patients and families don’t have a fair shot at prioritizing what matters most in the end.
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I'm aware it’s a sneaky cancer that doesn’t let itself known until it’s too late. I'm aware that the “lucky” ones who discover it early, usually discover it on accident. I'm aware it has the ability to - in an instant - swoop in and steal the life of the person you love most in the world, taking your life along with it.
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4 years ago, on Election Day, Brad and I broke out of the hospital to vote.
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Imagine thinking you have decades of life left. Plenty of time to take that trip or write that book or watch that sunrise. But you don’t have a bottomless supply of tomorrows. You have today. Right now. And if you’re lucky - tomorrow.
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Today I got dumped by my doctor. Well, maybe not dumped per say - it was more like a “we should see other people” situation. But either way, it was a blow to my ego and a conversation I was not expecting.
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I’ve been through worse.
That feels wrong to say out loud, when the entire planet is in an apparent state of panic, but it’s true. I've been through worse.
And I’m guessing many of you have too.
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In some capacity we’ve been preparing for my dad’s death for years - too many close calls and brushes with fate. But nothing prepares you for the actual day of losing a parent. And in the early morning hours yesterday, my tough and stubborn dad, Harvey Miles, finally succumbed.
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Holidays. ’Tis the season to be jolly, right? The season of parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting and caroling out in the snow?
But sometimes, the holidays aren't always merry and bright. Sometimes, I feel less like decking the halls and more like Grandma got run over by a reindeer.
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Today was supposed to be our 10 year wedding anniversary. We were supposed to renew our vows on the beach in Northern Michigan.
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Earlier this summer, I spent 5 days backcountry camping throughout the Porcupine Mountains in the Upper Peninsula. Over those 5 days, as I struggled with the weight of my pack, the pains, the moments of joy, and the elements, I realized how similar a trek in the wilderness is to the grief journey.
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I’ve been struggling with how to write this post for over a week now. Because eventually, when life continues to hand you unbelievable and shockingly shitty situations, you just stop finding the words. You stop finding the energy to even look for the words.
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Like last year, our family will be spending the week together to honor and celebrate both Brad and his twin, Dave. For one beautiful chaotic week, we get to live in each other’s noise and space and emotions. For one week, we gather from all across the country and get to be in each other’s presence.
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It was the first morning I woke up and wanted it to be over - a thought that is hard to admit, but one that, unlike so many other thoughts over the last year, comes without guilt.
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It was two and a half months after Brad’s death. I was running away and was in Florida at the time. I stubbornly refused to celebrate, not wanting to acknowledge the day. Not wanting to acknowledge another minute had passed without Brad.
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I found connection as I paddled through the water, being followed by the Great Blue Heron. I found joy as I pounced up the rocks, remembering the childlike joy I used to feel stomping through the woods and climbing up trees. I found peace as I stared up at a sky so big and so full of shooting stars, it was impossible not to feel incredibly powerful and oh so small, all at once.
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Today I received my 5 year CT scan. It was 5 years ago - to the very day - I received my first, post relapse, clean scan.
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I've always been an anxious person. I think this stems from an early and deep-rooted need to always be perceived as perfect (ridiculous, right?). I blame being the middle child - aka the "peacemaker" - during a tumultuous childhood. When things felt out of control, I took it on as my job to attempt to keep the peace. Or at least not add to the turmoil.
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6 months ago, my life - my happy, perfect life - changed forever. 6 months ago today, Brad and I walked into the Saint Joseph Mercy emergency room, hoping and expecting for an infection and instead getting a stage 4 cancer diagnosis.
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