Guest Post: I Took Back Time by Mary-Kay Cronemeyer
Earlier this year, TMP Books put out a call for submissions for two anthologies, requesting stories from cancer warriors/survivors, and from cancer caregivers. We received several submissions, but not enough to fill either book, so for now, the books are postponed.
When I notified the writers who had submitted, one of them suggested running the stories on my blog, and I loved the idea. My goal was to share people’s stories, to give encouragement and hope to other cancer warriors and caregivers, so why wait? I’m sharing the stories each Tuesday, in the order they were submitted.
Today, I welcome Mary-Kay Cronemeyer, sharing her story as a valiant cancer warrior.
“Skeptical” was on the tip of my tongue and really the word I wanted to use in reply to my surgical oncologist after my biopsy, seven years ago, because that’s how I honestly felt. But I needed to sound comparatively positive to his level of confidence, so I opted for “cautiously optimistic.”
Even though, in reality, I was pretty certain of the outcome.
You see, I’m the one who always seems to be “waiting for the shoe to drop.” If you're not familiar with the term, maybe the road sign “Proceed with Caution Hazards Ahead” may provide some clarity as to how I approach life.
It was no great surprise to hear him tell me what I already had settled in my heart.
Still, hearing it was unnerving.
I remember apologizing to him for having to make the call. I hung up the phone and relayed the news to my husband, taking note of my unusual composure and how casually I retold such life altering news.
But the inexplicable truth is, I had a quiet assurance that no matter what the outcome, everything would be all right.
A feeling and reaction foreign to my personality and an unusual response to hearing news of such significant weight.
Especially since emotion is my natural default. Something I try to control but find I’m not always successful.
I found preparation to be key in helping ward off a few emotional triggers.
With words like: “just in case” and “you never know” as part of my phraseology, along with the belief that “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,” I try to make sure I have what I need and then some. On any given day, my pocketbook is packed tighter than a new mom’s diaper bag on her first outing. From A to Z, more than likely, I have it. My motto is “Always be prepared.”
But are we ever really prepared for such news?
So maybe now you have a better understanding of why I questioned my unruffled response. Or perhaps why I considered the possibility of it being a form of shock or denial.
One thing I never questioned was: “Why me?”
But I did find myself questioning my ability to walk an unfamiliar path. Knowing there would be many obstacles and multiple decisions all of which I felt unqualified to make.
I recall, in what I would describe as my Moses moments, presenting my defense before God of all my inadequacies, insecurities, and inability for decision making and my inexperience deciphering medical terminology.
My biggest fear, by far, was the thought of losing my faith. Knowing that illness, disappointment, and feeling deceived can be a recipe for relational disaster. The trust that took so long to cultivate had the potential to deteriorate or disintegrate.
I am thankful to say none of which ever materialized, because at every turn, God was there.
Scripture, something I hold dear to my life, became love letters from His heart to mine. No longer were they just words printed on paper telling stories about Him. They were now heartfelt conversations, whispers, shouts, affirmations, consolations, and revelation of the One who calls me His own.
My need gave me pause to truly listen, to wait, to remain. In that place of willingness to be silent before Him, I found strength.
My rights, my ambitions, my expectations, my complaints, all of which I was willing to forfeit, bore no significance in comparison to His presence.
Days earlier, rushing to meet the demands of the day took priority.
But now, what would have been previously considered a distraction, an inconvenience, an irritation, or even mundane, was met with either childlike fascination, written off as trivial, or appreciated with renewed interest.
I took back time - controlling it instead of it controlling me. Never to the neglect of obligation to work or commitment to family. Not with a morose or fatalist view either, but with an understanding that life is limited so it is important to spend it wisely. I allowed myself time, found joy, and built memories.
Some days, I felt the inconvenience of having my life altered. And times of feeling frustrated with the unfamiliar and the unexpected, of scheduling appointments, and facing decisions. But I was never without help.
My friends and family lifted more than their share of my burden, giving me more time to focus on navigating my new normal.
A dear friend waded through the web, weeding out unnecessary and potentially harmful information, and then painstakingly interpreted the medical jargon for me.
My sister drove me for treatment, supplied me with things I needed and things I didn’t have the foresight to anticipate, and she always brought a smile to my face by doing something fun afterwards.
Another dear friend sent me a variety of medicinal teas and uplifting music to aid in my recovery.
Now that the blur has cleared, and I’ve had time to step back and process the past, with a less myopic focus, I realize that even though this cancer was a place I would never choose or ever return, without having gone through it, I would have never learned that I am a lot stronger than I perceived myself to be.
I would have missed out on experiencing a depth of love and kindness from friends and family that only comes through vulnerability and being in trial.
I would never have had the chance to witness firsthand situations too numerous to be considered coincidence.
About Mary-Kay Cronemeyer:
Mary-Kay makes her introduction here as a favor to her captive friends and relatives. Rest assured, writers, since by no means does she consider herself among the ranks. Instead, she sees herself as a teller of stories and relayer of desires endeavoring to communicate, through an alternate medium, to her grandkids. By expanding outside her comfort zone to a larger audience, she provides respite for those feeling obliged to read her short essays on faith, aging, and lessons life taught her along the way.
Laced with a bit of humor, her stories attempt to hold her audience’s interest just long enough to impart some insight, wisdom, or just make you wonder how her husband lets her out alone.
On most days you can find this grandmother of 8, mother of 5, out puttering in her garden or through her neighborhood’s surveillance footage as her 100 pound chocolate Lab, Dooley, drags her through the south shore streets of Long Island.
Read More:
Guest Post: 28 Years and Counting by Carrie Leeth
Health Update: Saying Goodbye - Another Milestone
Guest Post: A Joyful Warrior by April Whitt
Guest Post: Can’t See by Maureen Miller
Questions I’ve Had Since My Cancer Diagnosis
Does Your Hospital Have a Navigator?
Turning Points: How I Became a Writer
