Finding Peace in the Pause After Cancer

 A year ago, my life was very different.
 
I was still recovering from a previous Covid-19 infection and being treated for the atrial fibrillation it had caused.
 
I was looking forward to my follow-up appointments with my doctors, hoping to discuss ways to improve my quality of life and, perhaps, discontinue the medication that had caused me serious side effects.
 
After my check-up, the cardiologist agreed to let me stop the medication—pending one final test to confirm that there were no other heart-related issues.
 
That test turned out to be the one that literally saved my life.
 
It wasn’t my heart, but a small nodule on my lung that looked suspicious. That’s when the journey truly began.
 
After a series of additional tests and biopsies, I was diagnosed with lung cancer. Because it was detected so early, the doctor was optimistic—it was operable, and we would "treat to cure."
 
Those words resonated deeply with my daughter, who was with me at the appointment at the cancer center. 
 
In the days that followed, she continued to remind me of what the doctor had said. It hadn’t fully sunk in for me yet. I was still reeling from the news that I had cancer, overwhelmed with the memory of my own mother, who had passed away years earlier from the same disease.
 
What ensued can only be described as stepping into a hurricane—a force of activity, both physical and emotional, that pushed me forward through this process.
 
Now, just a few months later, here I sit.  Cancer free, contemplating what my new life will look like.
 
Part of me feels like I should get back to my life, but there is no going back to “normal”—not after going through that experience.
 
So now, I need to decide what I do want to do next. My instinct is to shift gears and move forward into something new as soon as possible.
 
The challenge is to just take a break and breathe. To actually take the time to feel and process all that has happened in such a short amount of time. To let what comes unfold organically and not try to rush through this.
 
Right now, I am trying to find peace in the pause.
 
 
 
 

How Covid Saved My Life

 Day 1:
 
When I first received the news that I had lung cancer, I felt very sad. After several tests, we suspected it was probable, but I had remained hopeful that it could still be benign. Now I had the answer.
 
Just hearing the word malignant is scary enough, but then you must accept that you have just been diagnosed with cancer.
 
As tears ran down my face, I quickly had to pull myself together. I needed to tell my daughter.
 
She is the one who has been by my side, giving me such beautiful love and support, and she will continue to be with me throughout this journey. The comfort of that is truly immeasurable.
 
As we talked and cried, a strange calm came over me. I wasn’t trying to be strong or brave—I just felt a sense of peace.
 
Maybe it was the first stage of grief that everyone speaks of—denial. But somehow, I felt like everything was going to be okay.
 
Day 2:
 
I wasn’t sure how I would feel this morning, but I actually slept very well—better than usual, which really surprised me. I always gauge my true feelings about something by how I sleep.
 
I’m very superstitious that way—if I have a major decision to make, like buying a car or a house, or attending a particular event, I always trust my instincts and follow the old adage: just sleep on it.

Any concerns or misgivings I may have tend to surface as bad dreams or restless anxiety throughout the night.
 
I woke feeling refreshed and ready to move forward with the rest of my life—somehow freer than I have ever felt before.
 
Day 3:
 
Today feels different. I didn’t sleep as well as the night before, and I woke up thinking about my daughters, which brought me to tears.
 
I suppose this is part of the process in this new journey. I need to give myself grace to feel whatever I am feeling.
 
Day 4:
 
Another bright and beautiful day. My outlook remains optimistic, and I am truly grateful for that.
 
Having my daughter’s incredible support means the world to me, even as I know she is struggling to control her emotions so she can stay strong for me.
 
This situation has brought up many painful memories. We lost my mother to the same condition at the same age over 30 years ago.
 
The most positive aspect is that we caught this early enough for treatment, making a cure a very real possibility.
 
How we even found this out is an interesting story. Last year, after being hospitalized with a severe Covid-19 infection, I was diagnosed with Atrial Fibrillation —a heart condition I had never had before.

As a result, I was prescribed medication. After a year of being symptom-free, I asked my doctor if he would consider taking me off the medication.
 
He agreed but requested that I undergo one more test to check for any heart-related issues.
 
That test revealed a non-coronary finding: a lung nodule that had been seen during my Covid episode but had not resolved and had grown.
 
That is how this journey began. Since then, it has been a whirlwind of tests and appointments—so much so that I have barely had time to really think about what is happening. That is helping to keep my spirits high.
 
Day 5:
 
Today, I woke up a little early, thinking about one of my last tests before meeting with the doctors next week. I am looking forward to getting this done—I am even a little excited.
 
I am staying focused on the exceptional care I’m receiving from the hospital, as well as the personal support from my precious daughter.
 
There are moments when I slip into that dark place and think about what this all means. I let myself feel it, but then I shift gears or distract myself until I return to the reassuring thought that everything will work out.
 
Day 6:
 
Today, the reality of my situation really sank in when I received the results from my test yesterday. It’s one of those moments where I’m grateful not to have had too much information beforehand.
 
Fortunately, the results appear to be good, but I’ll know more when I meet with the doctors next week. We’ll discuss all the tests and decide on a treatment plan.
 
For now, I’ll focus on resting and keeping myself busy, trying not to dwell on what I don’t know yet.
 
I have so much to be grateful for, which makes it easier to focus on all the wonderful things in my life.
 
Day 7:
 
Today is an emotional, weepy kind of day. I’m working on completing my will and last wishes for my family, and it truly feels like an emotional landmine. I really have to pace myself and take breaks when I start feeling overwhelmed.
 
So far, I have been fairly stable. I do have occasional bouts of sadness, but overall, I feel like I have been coping pretty well.
 
I am looking forward to meeting with the doctors tomorrow to discuss my treatment plan and prognosis moving forward.
 
Six Months later…
 
Today marks six months since my diagnosis. To say it has been a long, strange journey is an understatement—but it has led to the best possible outcome.
 
After undergoing surgery to remove the tumor, I am now cancer-free.
 
If not for the early screening that detected the cancer, this could have been a very different story.
 
I can truly say that having Covid-19 saved my life.
 
My deepest gratitude goes to the incredible providers who gave me outstanding care with kindness and compassion.
 
And most of all, to my precious daughter—who walked through this with me, side by side, laughing, crying, and everything in between—thank you from the bottom of my heart for being such a beautiful gift in my life.
 
Through it all, I have learned to embrace gratitude, trust in the process, and focus on what truly matters.
 
The love and support of those around us, the strength we discover within ourselves, and the unexpected twists of fate can all lead to something greater than we ever imagined.
 
And always, even in uncertainty, there is hope.
 
Have you ever faced a medical crisis or critical diagnosis? How did you cope? Did you receive the support you needed? Please share your stories and experiences.

Published on Sixty and Me
 

Clearing

It is Springtime in the Rockies and every year around this time I am filled with excitement and anticipation. I can feel the energy of new life making its way toward the warmth and sunshine. Native Americans called it the "Quickening" that time when life stirs just before birth.

This is when I begin my clearing to make room for what is to come. Mentally, physically and spiritually cleaning house, preparing for that wondrous new growth.

It is time to sort through everything that has been carefully stored away. I must bless and release those thoughts and things that hold me in the past so I can continue on my journey.