There is no motivator like intense hopelessness, if you're naturally a hopeful person.
Back in 2008, hubby and I decided to join a gym. We went with one that was close by, had childcare, and gave us many options to get in shape. Much as I would like to say we started our exercise regimen and stuck with it faithfully, the reality was we were often too tired to make it for a workout.
Yet, funny how things turn out because I was having one of the worst teaching years ever in my almost fifteen year career. There are some groups of students you just don't click with, and this was one of two in my teaching career I dreaded working with daily. Don't get me wrong, there were some amazing kids in this student group, but there were also some that delighted in causing as much mischief as they possibly could.
I was miserable, felt out of control and at the end of my rope. So I began getting serious about something I could control--making time for the gym. I'd heard at some point that exercise was an excellent stress reliever, and though I thought it was a long shot, I decided to give exercise a try. At least two or three times a week, I would jump on the elliptical and do my best to push my stress out with the sweat.
As I got into a habit, I noticed I missed the activity if I didn't make it to the gym, and eventually, I was going four to five times a week. My school year wasn't getting better unfortunately, but my anxiety level dropped. The most beneficial part of adding an exercise routine started about six weeks into this major change in my life and continued for the next six months--I lost about twenty-five pounds.
It was awesome. Everyone noticed--co-workers, family (especially hubby), and I noticed.
My stomach was getting flatter, my hips were getting narrower, and even my breasts were fitting in my bras and button-down shirts better. I was excited to keep working toward my ideal weight.
Then, in September 2009, I was showering, and the thought popped into my head that I hadn't completed a self-exam on my breasts for years. Yes, years. It's easy just to go through your routine and think things will always be the way they've always been. Why I thought to do a self-exam at that moment, I don't know. I like to think it was an intervention from God. I wasn't exaggerating when I said, I hadn't purposely examined my breasts for years, and though I'd been to my regular appointments, I hadn't since I'd begun to lose weight.
It was completely unexpected (I mean who really expects it?), but sure enough, I found a lump in my left breast. Maybe it was because I'd lost so much weight that it was so noticeable to me now, but there it was--undeniably a golf ball size lump.
Two things about that time continue to make me wonder. My weight-loss, though originally motivated by a tough day job, was probably the key to my being able to feel the lump, and the fact something greater than myself inspired me to find the lump.
Hard times might just be your wake-up call. And, of course, listen to that little whispering voice. It might just save your life.
More to come,
Sherry
Showing posts with label My experience with breast cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My experience with breast cancer. Show all posts
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Friday, December 30, 2011
It's About Time
To say it's been awhile since I last posted is an understatement and a half, but my goal was to begin writing about my recent experience with breast cancer, and honestly, I don't think I was really ready.
Truth be told, given a hundred years to process that time in my life, I don't think I would still be ready, but I'm forging ahead anyway with the hopes that someday, someone reads this and it gives them a little hope to hold on to.
Where to begin was a little tricky. Sure, I could start with the day I first discovered a lump in my breast or I could talk about the day I was diagnosed, but to really understand the devastation of the experience I needed to begin much earlier.
I had just finished my first undergraduate year at Eastern Kentucky University and was excited to begin my second summer as a camp cook at Aldersgate United Methodist Church Camp. The previous summer had been one I would never forget, and I expected nothing less of the upcoming one. Boy, was that calling the spring grass green. I met my future husband that summer, and eighteen years and three children later, he's still my unforgettable hero.
At the time though, we were young, felt immortal, and rushed headlong into a romance. As we grew closer, he told me his mother had battled cancer five years earlier, but that she was doing fine now. Unfortunately, that changed very quickly in the fall. I met her once. Actually sat down and had a conversation with her. I remember she had short, dark hair, a kind face, and a powerful love for her family.
One month later, she passed. The cancer returned with a vengeance and took her very quickly. It was a sad time for all. I was there to support my then boyfriend as he went through the visitation and funeral. My heart broke for his father, sister and him as they grieved, and though I knew there was nothing I could say or do to make things better, I attempted to be there for my boyfriend.
Looking back, two things about that time stand out to me now. One rainy evening about a month after her death, I was driving to a creative writing class and had a fender bender. After the police and insurance reporting was over, I skipped my class and went to my boyfriend's house to wait for him to arrive. While there, I called my mother and gave her a tearful explanation of what had happened, after which I sat with my now father-in-law and apologized for crying. He gave me a slight smile and said, "That's okay. I've cried a little myself today." Perspective in a second.
Unfortunately, the other thing that I remember about this time is that my future husband and I broke up. We decided not to see each other any more. He was sad, very sad, and though I'd tried to be supportive, he needed time alone. I, of course, understood, though my heart was devastated.
Believe it or not, a month later, we were together again, and I had no lingering doubts about the relationship. We were meant to be together. I still feel I could search the world over and never find anyone as perfect for me than him. He has proven time and time again that love is a very real and powerful force, and I thank God He brought us together.
So, this is where I knew I had to start. That time was a roller-coaster of emotion, but without this backstory, meaning about my personal struggle with breast cancer years later would be lost.
Until next time,
Sherry
Truth be told, given a hundred years to process that time in my life, I don't think I would still be ready, but I'm forging ahead anyway with the hopes that someday, someone reads this and it gives them a little hope to hold on to.
Where to begin was a little tricky. Sure, I could start with the day I first discovered a lump in my breast or I could talk about the day I was diagnosed, but to really understand the devastation of the experience I needed to begin much earlier.
I had just finished my first undergraduate year at Eastern Kentucky University and was excited to begin my second summer as a camp cook at Aldersgate United Methodist Church Camp. The previous summer had been one I would never forget, and I expected nothing less of the upcoming one. Boy, was that calling the spring grass green. I met my future husband that summer, and eighteen years and three children later, he's still my unforgettable hero.
At the time though, we were young, felt immortal, and rushed headlong into a romance. As we grew closer, he told me his mother had battled cancer five years earlier, but that she was doing fine now. Unfortunately, that changed very quickly in the fall. I met her once. Actually sat down and had a conversation with her. I remember she had short, dark hair, a kind face, and a powerful love for her family.
One month later, she passed. The cancer returned with a vengeance and took her very quickly. It was a sad time for all. I was there to support my then boyfriend as he went through the visitation and funeral. My heart broke for his father, sister and him as they grieved, and though I knew there was nothing I could say or do to make things better, I attempted to be there for my boyfriend.
Looking back, two things about that time stand out to me now. One rainy evening about a month after her death, I was driving to a creative writing class and had a fender bender. After the police and insurance reporting was over, I skipped my class and went to my boyfriend's house to wait for him to arrive. While there, I called my mother and gave her a tearful explanation of what had happened, after which I sat with my now father-in-law and apologized for crying. He gave me a slight smile and said, "That's okay. I've cried a little myself today." Perspective in a second.
Unfortunately, the other thing that I remember about this time is that my future husband and I broke up. We decided not to see each other any more. He was sad, very sad, and though I'd tried to be supportive, he needed time alone. I, of course, understood, though my heart was devastated.
Believe it or not, a month later, we were together again, and I had no lingering doubts about the relationship. We were meant to be together. I still feel I could search the world over and never find anyone as perfect for me than him. He has proven time and time again that love is a very real and powerful force, and I thank God He brought us together.
So, this is where I knew I had to start. That time was a roller-coaster of emotion, but without this backstory, meaning about my personal struggle with breast cancer years later would be lost.
Until next time,
Sherry
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