Events change things.

I’ve been through a bunch of changes I didn’t ask for during my adult life. Each time my life is altered somehow.

In 2004 I was laid off from a job at the zoo due to a huge $$ mis-handling by those from on high. For the 16 years prior, my plan was to retire from the zoo. My identity was tied to working there, my skill set was minimal because of my dedication to the job. I was ‘forced’ to change who I was and what I was going to be when I grew up. There were plenty of tears during this transition and I was not used to working that hard to get somewhere else. I adapted and found a career I love just as much as the zoo and now can’t imagine doing anything different.

In 2016 we had a house fire. The experience of the actual fire was one part – it showed me I could think on my feet in an emergency. But the re-homing of us and our dogs during the destruction & reconstruction of the house was another part. I developed anxiety like I’ve never experienced. My sense of safety was destroyed, life became scary. Things could change quickly. It took quite a bit of therapy to get my head to stop replaying the day and worrying about what might happen next.

Late 2018 into 2019 I was diagnosed with breast cancer and went through treatment (In the beginning). Once it was over I thought I’d be able to go back to ‘normal’ and continue where I left off. Mentally it took a toll on me more than I thought and I’ve been back in formal therapy ever since. These things were stories I expect to hear about from others… my friend just found out… my neighbor just had… not my own life events.

Now in 2021 this! I joke with a colleague about how I like to spice up my semesters (there was a broken foot in early 2020 to add to the spice) and she mentions how I like to keep things interesting. But this time there is no going back to what life was like before. There is no returning to normal. I am not okay with calling this a new normal, because it’s totally bonkers.

Having a chronic cancer is bizarre. I’ve read a lot of other patient stories, many refer this to a marathon. Supposedly the oldest living NET patient is 92, diagnosed 40 years ago. I keep trying to grab on to their positive thoughts, but these slip through my fingers and I’m back to the panic and fear. I’m sitting and waiting for the scary monster to jump out again.

I am realizing much of this is also mourning, I’m very sad for the loss of who I was, the security I thought I had. There is no going back to life before diagnosis, there is no getting to a new life after treatment.

My marathon has started except with treatments instead of water stations. The finish line won’t be a celebration.