Friday, February 12, 2010

The greatest compliment and the person never even knew it

So, I’ve been mentioning these past few blogs about my trip to San Diego by myself, where I tried to do something physically and emotionally satisfying each day, things that I cannot do when I am with my three kids.

All week I had this plan to go kayaking in the Pacific Ocean to look for grey whales that are currently migrating from the Bering Strait to the Baja Penninsula. I figured if my TV debut was off, I was going to make the most out of this trip, come hell or highwater!

I became very discouraged earlier in the week when I was told I might not have a kayak tour because I was only one person, and it wasn’t cost-effective for the shop to send out one guide with one person, and no one else had signed up for a kayaking tour. But, they kindly acquiesced the morning of my scheduled journey and said they would take me alone (La Jolla Kayak was the shops’ name and they were great. Highly recommend using their shop for all types of adventuring out in San Diego, CA).

By the time I was supposed to go out on my tour, a family of four (mom, dad and two teenagers) signed up as well! I was pretty psyched. Family was from Canada and the parents were really nice and very friendly. The mom and I both got sea sick on our trip. She actually voiced it to the guide first, and during the journey, when we had paddled out farther to search for whales, I joined the barf-bandwagon.

When we got back to shore, she told me how brave she thought I was for kayaking by myself. She said she didn’t think that she would have chosen this activity if she had been by herself. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell her about my cancer diagnosis a year ago. I wanted to tell her that I have fake boobs and sometimes I am still worried about doing physical activity with my upper body, and how proud I was of myself for kayaking for two hours straight, but I didn’t. I am trying not to broadcast to the entire world that I am a cancer survivor of just a year. I don’t want that to define me; yet, I feel like it is still an all-encompassing thought in my head these days.

I hold out hope that after a few years I won’t think about it every day as my defining moment in life, but right now, it is what it is, so I will continue to write about that.

1 comment:

  1. Your post reminds me of myself. There are times when I would like to shout to the world that I am a cancer survivor, and that I am now healthy, and that I embrace life so much more differently as a result of the journey that I've traveled, and that ... well, you know how it goes.

    Sometimes, however, it just feels so good to be doing the normal things again, to feel like I'm just like everyone else again. I don't know about your experiences, but when I talk to a person about my cancer who's never been through it, I typically see a sad - but blank - look staring back at me.

    There will be days - lots of them- when your invaluable insight and experiences will actually help others. Trust me on this; I am convinced that it is precisely those particular conversations that define us. In the end, we will come out feeling more blessed, and more "satisfied", and more empowering, than ever before. :)

    Great post!