What a long road it has been: the other side of cancer
While I was quite open about our family’s journey these past few months on my personal Facebook page, I’ve kept mostly silent on my photography pages. Six months flew by so quickly while we were in survival mode, and the next thing I knew, David had received the “all clear” from his doctors at the beginning of March and a few days later we were all back in Stuttgart.
If David’s cancer had taken a turn for the worse, I probably would have ended up blogging. But as it was, everything moved at a such a fast pace that the click of the camera (or the phone, on most days) and many, many late night deep thoughts shared on my private Facebook page was how I documented what has been the most challenging period of our lives.
I took hundreds of pictures of our time at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. Even though I couldn’t bear to really look too closely at them at the time, I knew these pictures were important to us. After several months to reflect on all that had transpired, and to be with my family as we return to a new normal, I finally sat down to really look through all of the images and process my emotions.
What really tugged at my heart was how normal life felt on most days, despite the extraordinary circumstance we were in. A new “normal” had settled in while we lived in two adjacent hotel rooms during the length of David’s chemo. A new routine in an unfamiliar place, with new skill sets required to navigate the unknown waters. In other words, a little bit like a typical move for our military family.
We celebrated a birthday (Adam’s), Christmas, and New Year’s in the hospital. The Christmas that we spent at Walter Reed was one full of love and laughter. We drank hot cocoa made by the nurses and wore matching hats from the Dollar Store. We celebrated around a Christmas tree put together on Christmas Eve, after hours of combing through various empty Christmas aisles. We ate delicious Thai food cooked and delivered by one of our friends, and wrapped gifts from us and the nurses who were working that night. We had a movie marathon. Several days of it, in fact. It was was one of the most beautiful and memorable Christmases I’ve ever experienced.
As expected: there were scary, frantic, and crazy moments. With two teens, a baby, two dogs who were being fostered by friends in Stuttgart and me flying back and forth several times across the ocean, we were definitely running on fumes. Did I mention that we moved our household not once, but TWICE in that that time period?
Each of us struggled with our own anxieties and emotions and, yes, I did worry. Not about whether we were going to come out of this, but whether we were going to come out of this together.
We got through it with the help and support of our extended family, friends, and communities on both sides of the Atlantic. The beauty of being a military family is that we had a physical support system in place in both Stuttgart, Germany and Bethesda, Maryland — and mental and spiritual support coming from all over the world. I never once felt that we were dealing with this on our own, and I can’t even begin to describe how much that thought comforted me.
Several people have asked me what it was like to go through something like this, how I was still functioning let alone working (I flew back to Stuttgart to photograph Patch Middle School’s retake day, the USMC Birthday Ball, the 1-10 Birthday ball, and the SHS JROTC Ball and was working out of David’s hospital room and our hotel room). My answer was always this: one step at a time, with the support from A LOT of people.
We got through it with the help and support of our extended family, friends, and communities on both sides of the Atlantic. The beauty of being a military family is that we had a physical support system in place in both Stuttgart, Germany and Bethesda, Maryland — and mental and spiritual support coming from all over the world. I never once felt that we were dealing with this on our own, and I can’t even begin to describe how much that thought comforted me.
Several people have asked me what it was like to go through something like this, how I was still functioning let alone working (I flew back to Stuttgart to photograph Patch Middle School’s retake day, the USMC Birthday Ball, the 1-10 Birthday ball, and the SHS JROTC Ball and was working out of David’s hospital room and our hotel room). My answer was always this: one step at a time, with the support from A LOT of people.
A cancer diagnosis is scary. Watching your child suffer is heartbreaking. The unknown, before settling into a new routine, is terrifying. Some days, waking up and hanging out together was pretty much all that I accomplished. There were many days like that.
What helped me through this time were the stories shared by those who came before me. Friends and strangers who had opened up, privately or publicly, about their experiences. It's a story of our shared humanity. Of love. Strength. Hope. A reminder that come what may, love endures and that you will always find laughter even in the darkest moments.
We got through it with the help and support of our extended family, friends, and communities on both sides of the Atlantic. The beauty of being a military family is that we had a physical support system in place in both Stuttgart, Germany and Bethesda, Maryland — and mental and spiritual support coming from all over the world. I never once felt that we were dealing with this on our own, and I can’t even begin to describe how much that thought comforted me.
Several people have asked me what it was like to go through something like this, how I was still functioning let alone working (I flew back to Stuttgart to photograph Patch Middle School’s retake day, the USMC Birthday Ball, the 1-10 Birthday ball, and the SHS JROTC Ball and was working out of David’s hospital room and our hotel room). My answer was always this: one step at a time, with the support from A LOT of people.
While I would never wish dark times for anyone, I hope that OUR story will be someone's light in the darkness someday. That they would look back on this and realize that they can and will be able to face whatever comes, one day at a time. Together, as a family and a community. If you ever find yourself in a similar situation. My advice is this: put faith in whatever greater power you believe in, and believe in the kindness of people. Reach out and accept help. People will surprise you in the most wonderful ways.
Dear family, friends, and our community around the world: thank you for your love, support, and prayers. Thank you for caring about our family, for the grace given and kindness shown.
A big thank you also to the doctors, nurses, staff, and volunteers at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center for the wonderful care our son received, and for taking care of our entire family. We met so many wonderful individuals who cared very deeply about what they do and the well-being of those placed in their care. We could not have been in better hands, and I’m humbled and grateful.
From the bottom of my heart, and on behalf of our family: thank you.
Hyla