Forget Again
In this heartfelt episode, Cherese Lee shares her family’s journey through cancer and the surprising, yet powerful piece of advice they received from a doctor. Listen in to find out the key to moving forward without letting life’s challenges consume your thoughts and decisions.
Hey, friends, Cherese Lee and you're listening to the Just Waiting for You podcast. Whether the sun is shining where you are in life today, or you're walking through a crappy storm, and you really wish you got some rain boots. The power of a story is sometimes all you need for that perspective shift. Hang out with us for a few minutes and find out what happens when you realize that someone is just waiting for you.
It's a story. It's just a story. It was 2017 and we were back at Duke Cancer Center for Brandon's post-op appointment after his lung Lobectomy. The thoracic surgeon gave him a clean bill of health. All of the lymph nodes that they removed were benign, and the margins of the tumor were clear. This meant that Brandon’s cancer was what they call surgically corrective, meaning he wouldn't need any more treatment.
And the surgeon told us that day that recurrence for this type of tumor was low. Not zero of course, because there are no 100% guarantees in life. So they would have him come back for CT scans and rejects pretty much forever. But in that moment when we got that wonderful news, the air changed, and our smiles were genuine for the first time in weeks.
After the doctor, whenever the final instructions and handed him his paperwork that at the top said survivorship papers. He then turned to me and said, “what are your questions that you have that he won't ask?” Ha ha, not the student's first rodeo. And I told them, I said, “I know what he's thinking already. He's over there wondering how to change his life now. What this means for his future and how he should live differently because of it.”
The surgeon nodded over at Brandon with this understanding grin, and he looked at us both and said, “the best thing you guys can do is go home and forget this ever happened.” Well, that's not what I expected to hear in the least.
And then silently mine and Brandon's eyes met, and we knew. We know exactly what he meant. And we had also loved enough people post cancer to know that forgetting would be nearly as hard as breathing with a collapsed lung had been. On the long drive home from Duke, we talked about the doctor's words. We recounted my mom's battle with cancer and how it never really ended, at least not in her mind despite her seven years of remission.
We talked about our young family and how we had so many parts of life that deserved more of our hearts and souls than cancer did. The scar on his side could be enough reminder, we didn't need any more than that. And then, 17 months later, after a routine follow up CT that we were promised he would have, we were slammed like a freight train.
We got the call that there was a spot on his lung again, this time the remaining lobe of that lung that had already had surgery.
Ughh, what the actual hell?? This wasn't supposed to happen. That's not how this particular cancer works. We were done, he said to forget it. And we actually did. We forgot. For the next nearly five months, we just sat in it.
We researched, we called. We traveled the country for opinions. We made plans. We screamed, we cried, we worried, we changed. And in all of it, all of the emotion and anger - let me tell you one thing that we never did. We never, ever regretted forgetting. We never regretted hope. We never thought, “well, damn, I wish I would have spent the last 17 months worrying this would happen.”
And if you're thinking, “but you could have stayed prepared.” Then ask someone who's been given a cancer diagnosis if anything in the world could have prepared them for that moment.
Spoiler alert. Things turned out fine. We found a specialist in this type of tumor and a surgeon who has seen it all, and they both agreed that the spot appeared to be benign and is most likely scar tissue.
I'll never forget, it was December, about two weeks before Christmas. And honestly, we had just gone through the motions so far in that holiday season waiting, praying, wondering what would be next. And so as we once again got good news, that oncologist looked at us and that room at M.D. Anderson and said, “what can I say to help you leave all that you've been through here in this room so you can walk out our doors and go live your wonderful lives?”
The same wisdom given by a different expert thousands of miles apart. Brandon and I both just kind of looked at the ground and smiled. And we knew. We left the exam room and walked down that long corridor, hand-in-hand with tears as we gave ourselves a few more minutes with to sit in it, to take it in, and then to give it all back and forget again.
There are things in life that change us, and they're supposed to. It's where we get our wisdom. It's where we get our perspective. It's where we learn. But I'm not so sure that it's supposed to consume all of our thoughts and all of our decisions. Every moment of every day. What are you holding on to that you're so afraid to forget? And what would your life look like if you allowed it to?
Here's your permission. Let it change you. Let it be part of your story. Because I promise, whatever that thing is, oh, goodness it's made you better and more beautiful. Not without scars. Both physical and emotional. But maybe it’s time to lay it down. At least in the dailies. And just let a Tuesday be a Tuesday. And just let a decision be what it is you are allowed to forget again and again and again.
Thanks for joining us. I hope you allow yourself to feel the things today and then have the courage to ask. But what if it looks like this? Go forth and show up for life, my friends. Someone is just waiting for you.