It was about a year ago that I moved from the acute phase of breast cancer treatment to long-term hormone therapy. I was relieved to be done with the hardest physical interventions of surgery and radiation, and also so scared about what the hormone changes might do to my mind and heart.

Little did I know that just seven weeks later, my husband would become the seriously ill patient, and we would be thrust into crisis mode once again. I had no idea that being the caregiver would feel harder, in so many ways, than being the patient.

One year out, it feels important to spend some time reflecting on what the experience looks like in relatively fresh hindsight.

• I’ve forgotten a lot of the physical pain, but I remember the specific thoughts and emotions attached to them. “Will I ever know what it’s like to not be deeply uncomfortable again?” “Who knew that our bodies could tolerate so much?”
• The healthcare workers who were especially human and humble and kind to us, are as fresh in our minds as today’s company. The mark you can leave for good in a season of deep suffering is beautiful.
• It strikes me, how quickly I have forgotten how terrified I was, how deeply I wanted to simply live and be healthy with my loved ones. I’m humbled by how easy it is for me to go back to being petty and short-sighted about life.
• A friend had told me that her breast cancer treatment felt “doable” and she would do it over again if needed. I couldn’t fathom that sentiment at the time, but now I agree. We forget the sharpness and overwhelm of some of our hardest trials, which can be a gift in the long run. But I hope I remember enough so that I can deeply empathize well with loved ones suffering in the present or the future.
• The trajectory of emotional, mental and spiritual recovery from the kind of double-whammy trauma we experienced, does not match the trajectory of physical recovery. This can be so disorienting. I feel immensely grateful for the friends in my life who understand this, and give me permission to grieve things that don’t seem apparent or even sensical on the surface, because we look so normal now.
• Articulating what grief, hope, faith and uncertainty look like in the midst of profound suffering (or emerging from it) is incredibly difficult. People who let you move beyond platitudes and oversimplification are a rare gift. These are the friends I gravitate towards the most nowadays.
• My relationship with God became more clear and also more complicated. But despite all the questions that linger, I can’t get away from Jesus, the Man of Sorrows. I wouldn’t believe myself to be loved and secure in this crazy life if it wasn’t for Him.