Cupcakes and a Speeding Car

Not that I see myself on a TED Talk stage anytime soon, but I have a list of things I feel like sharing with the universe at large. Fear and cancer happen to top the list of talks I would give. (Along with why mayonnaise is the worst possible food.)

Nobody wants to live in fear. It is such an awful feeling in our bodies. It keeps us from sleeping and preoccupies us when we are trying to work and makes us worry about everything else around us.

Fear is part of the cancer equation. It is also one of the true natural instincts that we are born with. We come hardwired with a fight or flight mechanism. We are supposed to run away from danger. We sense it, taste it, and can be paralyzed by it. Hearing “don’t worry,” doesn’t do much except make us feel bad for worrying. We may not be running from cavemen gone wild anymore, but we are dealing with fear that our bodies are creating. A bonafide internal chase of emotions.

With a cancer diagnosis, we hear the words, we experience the symptoms, we see the plan for surgery or treatment. We see the look of concern on our loved ones’ faces. We also feel our bodies differently. We now know with certainty that we are not in the driver’s seat. Oncologists and nurses are amazing at their jobs, and I have so much respect for them. A healthy start to a conversation with them could be, “I am scared.” Their response could start with, “You have cancer, and that is scary. Together, we will sort this out. Let’s all take a minute and look over what is going on, let’s make a small plan for the near future and give you some help on how to manage the stress and worry.”

Fear comes out in many ways while we are living with cancer. I felt that I had to keep it all together for everyone and continue to move forward with Jim’s diagnosis. Adding the caregiver hat was something I did with pride. But everyone has a limit to what they can stand. When my husband, Jimmy, needed to go to Switzerland for treatment, I was in a quiet panic inside. It wasn’t in our budget, it meant Jimmy had cancer that was acting up, it meant putting an ocean between us and our children for ten days. I had arranged care and meals for the kids. I had drained our bank account to get us there. I had fought with the insurance company to get the treatment covered. I had thought of everything, but what I didn’t do was deal with the uncertainty and fear I was struggling with in my body. I was trying so hard to hold the down fort and not worry Jimmy or the boys, that I stretched myself too thin emotionally and physically.

The night before we left, a friend gave us a plate with giant chocolate cupcakes on for the kids. The neighbors were all outside to wish us well. We were all standing on the lawn when a young guy in a decked-out hotrod fishtailed out of control right in front of our house, which lies on a curve of a street. He came close to losing control and could have hurt my family and friends. My nervous system decided enough was enough! Without any thinking involved, I picked up one of the cupcakes from the plate I was holding and flung it like I was the starting pitcher for the LA Dodgers. That cupcake, though dense, had some energy in it. It went directly into the open passenger window and hit the closed driver window, from inside the car. It broke into a thousand pieces before our eyes. As the driver realized what happened, he stopped his car in the street while the neighbors and my family just stood still. The driver looked at me and decided I was maybe not in the mood for a confrontation, and he drove very slowly down the street. Then, I started laughing. I couldn’t stop. Tears rolled down my face. My family? Yeah, they were not impressed.

I was at capacity for handling my worries. I was scared. I was overwhelmed and I didn’t deal with it properly. Throwing a cupcake at a speeding car felt so great in the moment but really, I could have taken care of myself a little more to prevent the “cupcake toss of 2008.”

Guess what? It wasn’t just the speeding driver. I was so full of fear and concern from every angle in our lives. I was trying to take everything on, so my husband didn’t have to worry about anything but his health. Now, I had done it and added to his worry. He was also worried about his health but acted fine for us. Our kids were being so brave, yet they also had concerns. I felt that I was holding up the entire family when in fact they were following my example and holding it all in. It was too much for all of us. I had been so laser focused trying to handle it all, I didn’t give any of us a chance to be open about how we were really feeling.

We went into the house and after I stopped laughing and crying, sat down in the living room and had an honest conversation. I apologized for “cupcaking” the speeder. (I am secretly not that sorry.) Next, we took turns talking about being scared or worried about the unknown. I admitted that I was trying to do too much so no one else had to worry. I came clean and said I was a little afraid of dad having to leave for treatment far away from what is familiar. I worried about leaving our boys. I also said how fortunate we were to have this plan in place to help their dad. Jimmy told us he was worried about being gone from work so long, but also felt hopeful the treatment would go great, and he was ready to go! He told the boys he knew they would be fine and to enjoy the things we had planned for them while we were gone. I asked the boys to write a list of questions, and we would get them answers. We also promised Swiss Army knives and Swiss chocolate.

We came up with healthy alternatives that throwing an expensive cupcake could never really solve. The truth is, we cannot know much with great certainty about cancer. We must be positive, hopeful and strong. We can also be ready to practice techniques to handle the bigger emotions. We can also be honest at times and say, “I am afraid.” Three simple words that can lead to a closer relationship with your loved one. The same words can lead your medical team to offer you some help. By sharing it with others and finding solutions, you can bring comfort to someone else. That is pretty amazing.

P.S. I still giggle about that darn cupcake.