Practicing Medicine

Every holiday has always been a time of joy, togetherness, and indulgence in my family. This year, however, it held a different significance for me. As a newly diagnosed cancer patient, I was stepping into uncharted territory, and this would be my first time around family for a gathering since my diagnosis. No one knew about my condition, and my children were blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in our lives.

As I prepared for the holiday meal, I found myself juggling a mix of emotions. On one hand, I wanted to savor the moment and create beautiful memories with my loved ones. On the other, I felt an overwhelming urge to protect myself from everyone, leaning to the heavy reality of my diagnosis. This meant putting on a brave face and acting as if everything was normal.

The hardest part of the day was maintaining the façade of normalcy. My family’s laughter and excitement filled the house, and I was determined to keep their spirits high. I laughed at their jokes, joined in their games, and made sure that the magic of the holiday season was felt. Inside, though, I was struggling. The weight of my diagnosis and the uncertainty of the future were ever-present. Every hug, every smile, and every moment of joy was tinged with a silent undercurrent of fear and anxiety, but I couldn’t let it show. I couldn’t let anyone see the cracks in my armor.

When it was time to gather around the table, the familiar scents of my favorite foods filled the air. This year, my husband took extra care in preparing a plate for me before everyone started “digging” into the dishes. He made sure to select foods that I could comfortably eat, given my current dietary restrictions and sensitivities due to my treatment. His thoughtful gesture was a small but profound act of love and support. It allowed me to participate in the meal without drawing attention to myself or my condition. As everyone else filled their plates and shared stories, I quietly savored the food, grateful for the momentary semblance of normalcy.

Throughout the meal, I felt like I was living in two worlds. In one, I was the cheerful mother and wife, enjoying the holiday with my family. In the other, I was a cancer patient, silently battling fears and uncertainties. This dual existence was exhausting, but it was necessary. This gathering had been a bittersweet reminder of the preciousness of life and the importance of family. It also highlighted the inner strength and resilience that I would need to draw upon in the coming months.

As the day drew to a close, I reflected on the experience. I realized that while I couldn’t control my diagnosis, I could control how I faced it. By focusing on the present and cherishing the moments with my loved ones, I could find pockets of joy and normalcy. I need to think about the value of living in the moment and the power of love and support from those closest to me. I know that I am not alone. I have a family that cares. I will continue to find strength in their support and in the small, everyday moments of joy and connection.

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