Risk

Ronda Walker Weaver, a regular LBBC blog contributor, returns with the 2nd part of her four-part story. In her original post she explained how she had to take risks, face surprises and embrace the adventure that transpired after her breast cancer diagnosis. Here she explains the risks she encountered after her diagnosis in more detail…

2nd chemo

As I’ve been healing, I’ve thought about cancer treatment as the “risk” I’ve had to take in order to rid my body of these nefarious cells. Cancer treatments are extraordinarily individualized, even talking to someone about cancer does not necessarily mean learning but perhaps only gathering information. When I was diagnosed with cancer, I innocently (and how could I not be with no family or friends with a history of cancer), thought I would be puking, having diarrhea, losing my hair and needing to sleep. That’s it! Awww, if I’d only known, but then, knowing is difficult. I mean, where was I even to begin my research? Just Googling “breast cancer” brings up 400,000,000 results! I had to take risks from the very beginning of my diagnosis.

The biggest risk I took was that of Trusting, with a capital T. Trusting my medical team and trusting others. Really, risking wasn’t about my doing something, it was about allowing others to do for me. And in my “do it myself” world this has been truly terrifying.

I think back on my first chemo treatment, I was like that proverbial lamb going to slaughter – innocently walking into the chemo room, dressed as if I was going to go teach a college course (that one I had to drop because of treatments), ready to be the healthy patient. Then – and remember this is post-surgery (and I’d had plenty of surgeries, so not a lot of innocence there), my port was accessed, and fluids began dripping into my body, poison was dripping into my body – the body I had worked so hard to keep away from poison. My risk came in not knowing what was next, how my body would react and yet trusting my medical team, who would know what was “best” for my cancer. I had some serious side-effects but yet I returned for more chemo treatments, more hydration and every time I learned that my risk was a little less risky because my trust in others increased.

Six weeks after my last chemo treatment I began radiation, thirty-five treatments in all, and I had to face another risk, that of learning to trust, again. This time the trust was more easily developed because I had learned to trust my chemo oncologists. When the burn was beyond toasted, when the pain was once again beyond any pain I had ever felt, I had to trust – there was nowhere else to go. Even when I wanted to quit, I had to risk the continuing.

A few weeks ago Scott and I drove our pickup, with new bikes in the back, to Southern Utah, our place of solace. Here I could let my guard down, being in Zion Canyon is like having a fleece blanket wrapped around me, giving me warmth and comfort – telling me I did not need to risk, and here I could trust myself, something I haven’t done much of the past several months – I’ve been to scared to risk trusting me.

And yet that’s where I am now, the biggest risk I’ve taken, is the one I’m taking – that of trusting myself. Trusting in the journey. Risking myself, giving myself over to a medical team, was easy compared to this leg of my journey. I have to trust in the new me, and I am afraid.

Ronda is 54 years old, she eats right, exercises daily, and there is no history of cancer in her family, yet she was diagnosed with breast cancer on Thursday, Sept. 6, 2012. She teaches folklore and writing at Utah Valley University and works for an online education company, LearningU. She loves reading, listening to music, gardening, walking and riding her bike, traveling, and spending time with her grandchildren, children, and her dear husband – who has been her pillar of strength through her journey. She also writes her own blog called Folklady’s Adventures. Be sure to check back soon for the 3rd installment of her story!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s