In an appointment in February to receive results after undergoing fertility testing, a mass in my left adnexa was found in the ultrasound.
(Adnexa-what, you ask? Basically where my left ovary used to be after the emergency surgery to clean-up the ruptured cyst and second surgery to remove the left ovary and Fallopian tube in November 2018.)
To say I was shocked and anything less than scared when the doctor told me would be an understatement.
There’s hella uncertainty. It could be nothing or it could be cancer or something in between.
Spoiler alert! After seeing the oncologist we’re not sounding the alarms or doing anything drastic, instead it’s something we’re simply going to monitor.
Now normally, if I wanted to say something, I would wait until I had a clearcut answer to share anything. Because frankly, despite the spoiler alert, I’m still in a certain amount of uncertainty.
I don’t want to cry wolf, freak people out, make a big deal out of nothing or something, or this to be what I feed energy into forever before anything is “official”. But because I’ve processed, worked through schtuff, and am deeply okay now and heading into this, I’ve reached a point that I can share my story without seeking anything in return. Mostly I share this truthful experience of mine because I think that the in between, the grey area, the messiness is where our humanity lies. I mean, arrived, certainty, security, and control? Pft, not only an illusion but also booooooring.
But this message isn’t about my health… it’s about death.
Much better, amIright?!
Now stick with me, because although this message may be *slightly* morbid there’s a point I’m trying to make that’s more positive, I promise.
…I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately, which means I’ve also been thinking a lot about life.
(One of those good ol’ can’t have one without the other!)
With that recent health change, my mind started exploring the rabbit hole of how I could realistically and theoretically have cancer and thought, panicked, to myself, “Oh my God, I could be dying.”
And just after I thought that, the irony hit me clearly. I rolled my eyes and chuckled.
I AM dying. There’s no doubt about that.
And I hate to break it to you… but that means you too, *insert your name here*.
Some sooner than others, some predicted, some out of the blue, some quickly, some slow.
The only thing that’s guaranteed is that we’re not getting out of this thing called life alive.
Now, this isn’t some earth-shattering message you didn’t know.
But maybe it’s exactly what you need to hear right now, put so bluntly. Because frankly, I needed to hear it.
YOU’RE DYING.
I’M DYING.
WE’RE ALL DYING.
Life is basically like this:
And honestly? GOOD.
Some people say that because we all inevitably and eventually die that it makes our lives meaningless. I’ve thought that in moments of despair too.
But there’s something in me that can’t help but argue the opposite.
Death is what gives life meaning.
If we all simply lived forever how much incentive would we have to make the most of things and soak up all the goodness (and badness) that is life? The finite measure of seconds we have and breaths we take make each moment something we’ll never have again. For better or for worse.
This human experience we’re having *will* end at some point. It’s what you do with it before it does end that matters.
So even though this message is about death, it’s really about life.
We so easily shuffle through life doing what we “should” do, terrified of failure and rejection that we don’t even try, on autopilot flying to a destination we don’t know or don’t even care to speak up in deciding the flight direction, and paralyzed with the fear of messing things up and making a mistake.
Until, and eventually, something wakes us up.
And I think we’re all secretly waiting for a reason to finally say, okay, NOW.
Because the secret to living is dying.
I think life always gives us little nudges and signs all along. So often we have a feeling, but we’re waiting for a catalyst; a loss, a heartbreak, a diagnosis, a lightning bolt epiphany that means *now* is when it’s going to happen. And theeeeen we’ll let go, leap, and live with our open, whole heart to release what’s buried inside of us.
Unfortunately, it often takes a breaking point that finally drives us to change and believe in a new way of being.
Only when we reach a point when it feels like we have nothing to lose and nothing else to try, a rock bottom one might say, does it give us the final impetus to try another way and finally live in the way we always wanted to. And that’s when the fun begins.
But that’s the thing that kills me… we’re waiting to be ready, while we already always have something to lose. Something we are losing. Our life. (And yes, I’m being dramatic, but at any second an asteroid could hit this planet! #justsaying)
Which means now IS the time. In fact, now is the only time we actually have… Since the philosophical and existential boat has probably long set sail in this message, let’s just blow it farther along with some wind and say simply that the past can never be changed and you living in the future is beyond your control. Now is all we have. (And now again, and now again, and now again, and now again, and now again, and now again, and now again… okay, you get my point.)
Now, I can do those things I’ve always wanted to do. Now, I give myself permission. Now, I can’t not anymore. Now, is my time. Now, it’s going to happen. Now, is now.
Now (ahem, pun intended) do you know what the funniest part is, my friend? Other than my pun? This health change has served as a wake-up call to me.
Probably about the seventeenth wake-up called I’ve received.
After my third surgery for ovarian cysts, now this is a sign it’s time. After my break-up, now I’m not messing around. After meeting Him with a capital H, now it’s gonna happen. After that last cyst and surgeries, okay I can’t not now. I hear you, Universe. And yet… here I am. Now, again.
It’s been yet another breaking point, yet another rock bottom, yet another wake-up call. Each one waking me up just a little bit more, luring me to my truth, and calling me to show up. This recent doctor’s update coupled with a conversation with Him has certainly triggered me to realize something I’ve always wanted to declare, but never knew if it was possible, if I was good enough, or how to make it happen.
I want to be a writer. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. So here I am.
*shrugs shoulders*
I figure I might as well start writing.
There are going to be some changes in the way I show up in this world and how I live my life from here on out. I declare it to you in this moment regardless of what my health situation is to come.
I put a sticky note at the top of my desktop monitor that says, “You are dying, Deanne.” in case I forget. (See Exhibit A.)
Exhibit A: I may be dying, but I’m not a liar.
I want to challenge myself, and drag you in with me while I’m at it, with the thought that maybe this idea of “now” doesn’t need a(nother) breaking point, and you’ll never truly be ready, because *now* is simply a decision.
We’re both dying. That’s for damn certain.
Life will run out. And we won’t have any more time.
Your chance to live won’t last forever, which means the only choice we have *now* is how we live.
And I hope you live life and feel more than you think about it and fear.
To living AND dying,
Deanne
Pst – okay, NOW.
Deanne Vincent
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