Live Like You Were Dying

I'm excited to share that I finished six months of chemotherapy this week. My recent blood tests are very promising and do not show any evidence of cancer. Next week, I will undergo a full body scan to confirm that there is no detectable cancer anywhere in my body.

When my cancer returned in the form of a lesion on my liver, my world was once again turned upside down. Seeking reassurance from my oncologist, I inquired about survivability, expecting him to instill me with the hope and positivity I so desperately needed. "Given what we know, you have a 25-40% chance of survival" he replied.

I'm sorry, I think I misheard you. What?!?! That can't be right.

Not exactly the uplifting news I expected to hear. You see, once cancer has migrated from its original site and spread to other parts of the body, it is considered Stage 4, greatly increasing the chances that it will eventually root somewhere that affects your vital organs and greatly reducing your chances of survival.

I wish this news sparked some sort of Tim McGraw song-inspired wake up call to embark on some great adventure - a desire to go skydiving, rocky mountain climbing, and maybe a short but exhilarating bull ride, but alas, I had no such aspirations.

What I did crave - what I prayed for with all of my heart - was the opportunity for more time to enjoy the mundane, quiet, previously ordinary moments with Erin and our four little ones. Snuggling in bed and reading them the same bedtime stories that they've heard countless times. Exploring tide pools at sunset and collecting cool shells and rocks. Walking through the Farmer's market and sampling all the fresh berries and summer stone fruits. Camping in the mountains. Sitting on the couch and watching a family movie. Enjoying the quiet of the house and maybe an Old Fashioned or two with Erin after all four kids are finally in bed. And dreaming together about raising a pet goat, because goats are all kinds of awesome.

I also wanted to continue to watch my kids on their journey of becoming. Watching them dream big, chase goals, and hopefully grow to become something resembling a decent person. I want to be there when they learn to drive a car, support them when they get their heart broken, and hold back tears when they eventually move away. If I'm not around, who is going to help them move their furniture and boxes into their first apartment? Who is going to walk my daughters down the aisle? And most importantly, who else is going to tell a dad joke and an embarrassing childhood story during their wedding speeches?

I need to survive this. I need to. It would break them if I can't be there for them. And to beat this, I absolutely need to prioritize my mental and physical health moving forward. I wish I could say that this diagnosis immediately made me transform my habits and drink daily kale shakes, practice daily mediation, and start regular morning runs. But I'm human and thus, imperfect. If anything, I lost motivation to do much of anything. I was unable to muster up the energy to make any transformative changes after my partial liver section or during the last six months of chemo. I'm still a work in progress and finally have enough strength and mental clarity to look inward and start making some changes.

In the last nine months, I've been trying to learn more about myself - my strengths, limitations, my goals, and my needs. If that sounds strange, it is. I mean, how do I not know who I am? I'm a psychologist for goodness sake. If there is any profession out there that should include the job perk of self-knowledge, this should be it. And yet, much of who I am is still unknown. When life gets busy - consumed by serving others, mentoring students, and raising little ones - attending to my needs, or even knowing what those needs are, have not been priorities.

Pushing the pause button on life has given me the space to sit in the stillness, reflect on life, write, and talk to a therapist. Here is what I'm learning and how I need to change:

Stress is Public Enemy Number One

Chronic stress is a key risk factor in a number of serious health conditions, including heart disease, strokes, and yes, cancer. Historically, I have not always recognized when my stress levels are elevated, nor have I been aware of the very real risk of burn-out until it has already moved in and made itself at home. I have rarely taken action to proactively minimize stress associated with my job or family life, nor do I have established coping strategies and routines for managing stress in a productive manner.

I must now actively manage my stress levels by being very mindful of my daily activities, energy, and self-care efforts. I have to anticipate potential sources of stress and take steps to recognize and manage increases in stress as they occur. I am also making long overdue changes to my diet, exercise, and sleep habits in order to increase my capacity to respond more adaptively to the unexpected stuff that life throws at me. Talking to a therapist has helped tremendously too. Sometimes you just need another person to help you sift through your shit. Apparently, just talking to the psychologist you see in the mirror doesn't count.

I Quickly Run Out of Spoons

On both mental and physical levels, I have very limited energy. Chemo has wreaked havoc on my brain and body. I'm still recovering, although I don't expect to ever get back to 100%. My therapist and I recently discussed Spoon Theory as a means of conceptualizing one's daily energy level. Popularized by Christine Miserandino, Spoon Theory describes the experience of folks with chronic illness, medical needs, neurodiversity, or disability using the metaphor of a holding a limited number of spoons. Each spoon represents the capacity to take on a single daily task or chore, and completing this activity is analogous to handing out one of your spoons. When all of your spoons are gone, that's it. There is no physical or mental capacity to take on anything else in the immediate future, even if these upcoming tasks seem really simple or constitute expected work or family obligations.

During chemo, I would often find myself "all out of spoons" after completing a handful of tasks and unable to do even simple things, such as responding to a text message from a friend, making something to eat, or playing a game with the kids. Although my capacity to take on tasks has gradually increased post-chemo, it is still very limited.

Despite my limited mental and physical energy, I have been blessed in that my creativity and critical thinking skills are still largely intact. Moving forward, I have to be very selective of what tasks, initiatives, and projects I take on. I can help develop innovative programs and plan fun family outings, but when I start juggling too many things, I quickly hit my limit and the balls will quickly start to fall. Doing a few things exceptionally well will be my new mantra. Quality over quantity, Ty.

I Struggle with Work-Life (and Life-Life) Balance

People often talk about the importance of work-life balance. I have definitely struggled to balance work obligations with the rest of my life, with work-related issues often lingering in my mind long after the work day is over. Not having a traditional 9-5 job is both a blessing and a curse. I have tremendous flexibility with my work schedule, but this also means there is not a specified time when work naturally comes to a stop. Sometimes problems and projects intrude into my mind and into evening and weekend time that should be reserved for family.

I also struggle to find balance among the many different things that constitute the "life" side of things as well. I am learning that I need to carve out more consistent time for my own interests, physical health, and social relationships. I can't tell you what my interests or hobbies are (and apparently it is really hard to pursue your favorite activities when you don't know what they are). Until this week, I hadn't exercised in over a year. I used chemo as an excuse, but the reality is that inertia and stress had stripped away my desire to be active long before my cancer returned. And I rarely if ever arranged time to get together with friends unless it was organized by others or was part of a school or church function. There just wasn't enough time to pursue any of these things, right? After a busy day being a father, husband, faculty member, researcher, and community member, there wasn't any time left to focus on me. At least that was what I told myself.

In short, I need to learn to be more selfish. Specifically, I need to protect some of my time and prioritize my own needs through regular self-care. My therapist helped me reframe physical and mental recovery from a mindset of "wasted time when I could have been productive" into an essential ingredient for sustained mental wellbeing and productivity. Taking care of yourself is arguably the most productive activity you can undertake. Intentionally scheduling time to pursue my own interests, exercise, and connect with friends will help me reduce stress, clear my head, and have the energy to be fully present in other aspects of my life. To use a airplane analogy, I've been tasked with securing my own mask prior to helping those around me.

Live Like You Were Dying

I fully intend to stick around to watch my kids grow up and pursue their dreams. And when they are grown, I have aspirations to buy a couple of rocking chairs and spend the years rocking on the back deck with Erin as we age and grow old together.

For me, living like I am dying isn't morbid; it simply means not taking the little moments of life for granted, as they ultimately mean everything to me. But in order to do this, I first need to be unshackled from the stress and distractions that prevent me from being fully present. I'm perpetually working on being more mindful and engaged with my family, which first requires me to take better care of myself so my mind isn't clouded and overwhelmed with stress and anxiety.

Slowing down, doing less, and being more intentional with my time is going to be the key to living a long, happy life. Erin also informed me that if I leave her to raise four kids on her own, she'll kill me. So, I guess I have another reason to try to stick around...