In general, writing comes easy for me. Since Jr. High I have used journaling as a way to process life and express my feelings. Thoughts left in my head are jumbled and disorganized. Those same thoughts written down on paper are a revelation.

But sometimes life is so overwhelming that even my trusty tool of the journal cannot help me. For the past couple of months, I have been so overwhelmed I have been paralyzed. Unable to write. Unable to untangle my thoughts. Just getting through each day uses all the energy I wake up with.

As you know, on August 11 I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. Stage 4. Treatable, but incurable. For anyone, this diagnosis is a death sentence. The timing may be unclear, but all previous notions of growing old with my husband and raising my kids to adulthood are not only in jeopardy, they are gone. Just like that. Happily Ever After … for me … is gone. I immediately began to change the way I thought about everything. And suddenly my sole objective for the future was simply to live long enough for all my kids to have actual memories of their mother. Is that so much to ask? For kids to have real memories of their mom? I want to make some lifetime memories with my husband – as quickly as possible.

Obviously, these are morbid and morose thoughts. But what other choice did I have? Stage FOUR cancer! At age 40. Married almost 10 years. Three kids, ages 6, 4, and 2. “Overwhelming” doesn’t really begin to describe the feeling of those first few weeks. It was easy to settle into a “death sentence” mentality.

And then I met with a friend who was handed nearly the same diagnosis over a year ago. Her initial diagnosis was much worse than mine, in fact. She was immediately hit with lots of chemotherapy. They got things under control. And now she lives and works a regular life. She’s on a lot of medication, and her body is often in pain, but she is alive, thriving, and cancer, for now, is being held at bay. And she looked me in the eye, and she said “Heidi, this is not a death sentence.”

For days this haunted me. How could it not be? Stage 4 cancer, remember? And yet, was I willing to believe the things I kept SAYING I believed? My cancer is unique. My treatment will be unique. I am not a statistic. Who knows what God has in store for me? Who am I to limit God, to limit the medical profession, and assume my future will look a certain way? I have heard countless stories about the many many years people are living with metastatic cancer. Yes, that life is fraught with chemotherapy drugs, sometimes a lot of pain, constant testing and various experiments in treatment. BUT! It is LIFE!

So now my task is to try and let go of the death sentence mentality, and begin to live my life again. The thing is, my life looks so different than I’d anticipated for my 40s. On top of regular life – raising kids, keeping house, loving husband – I have countless doctor’s appointments, chemotherapy and its side effects to contend with, and the constant threat that cancer is getting out of control. Right now we’re attacking with chemo because cancer is headed for my spinal cord. And we can’t have that. I’m also living with a lot of pain, daily, that keeps me from conducting some of the most basic of tasks.

But I’m starting to wrap my head around LIVING, not dying. The last couple weeks have been very trying. I’ve started chemo, which has more side effects and makes me feel worse than the disease it’s fighting. I was really sick after my first infusion. I spent nearly a week unable to eat or care for kids much. Weeks like that are hard, and harsh reminders of the reality of my condition. But, that was last week. And this week, as I feel better, I’m trying to get back to as much normalcy as I can.

I suppose it’s going to be a constant process. My diagnosis is still fairly new. My doctor and I are still learning about my particular cancer and its idiosyncrasies. I am learning that I need to approach every appointment with lots of flexibility. Anything can happen. Treatment may take unexpected turns. But everything I do and go through is in order to live … as long as possible. I am not done with my family, or God’s purpose for me in this life. And there’s just no telling what the future may hold.