CURE Today Article

By: Kelley Jones, 42, L ung Cancer

From the moment we’re born, an internal countdown begins, ticking away towards an unknown end. In November of 2018, my countdown clock rapidly spun out of control.

It was an ordinary, even boring day, but then something of such magnitude occurred: I heard three words that altered my life:

“You have cancer.”

In that moment, time froze. The world was moving around me, but I was stuck in slow motion.

That evening, my sister and I had tickets to a Jeff Tweedy book tour event. I wanted to go; I needed to go. While Jeff made us laugh and shared wonderful stories, inside my head, I was writing my own obituary: Kelley was kind, loyal, funny, and often feral (IYKYK). She loved thrifting, coffee, trash pandas, music, and the color red. Kelley loved the ocean, and the sounds of waves crashing onto the sand were her personal fortress of solitude. Her greatest joy was becoming an Auntie to her nephew Luca, whom she loved and adored.

As I was thinking of all the milestones to include in my obituary, I snapped back to reality when I heard,

“Want me to play some music?”

Jeff brought out an acoustic guitar, and as he made the most beautiful art, time froze again- this time for the right reason.

My late Dad played the guitar all his life; the soundtrack of my life was his melodies. Even though he wasn’t with me, I felt him at that moment. It also didn’t hurt that Wilco was his favorite band.

Fast forward to the day of my lung lobectomy, the day my lower right lobe was removed to cut away the cancer and, hopefully, give me more time. I’ll admit, I wasn’t a kind person that day. I was curt, even mean. Sorry, Mom! But as soon as I stepped through the entrance of Mass General, I decided right then to take each moment in tiny increments of time: the waiting room, the pre-op room, the surgery room, and God willing, the recovery room. My family was perfect, giving me exactly what I needed without even being asked.

There’s an ongoing joke (my sister will roll her eyes when she reads this) about how I tell everyone, “My sister is a nurse.” But on that day, it wasn’t a joke. She was my medical advocate, and her presence brought me peace.

Spoiler alert: I did wake up from my lung lobectomy, though the story of that traumatic awakening is for another day. I spent the next few days recovering in the PACU due to a bed shortage, a true blessing in disguise.

Restless and in pain, I couldn’t find comfort and sleep was a struggle. An observant nurse noticed that when music was playing, I was able to finally find solace. That sweet angel put on the TV to a tranquil music channel and noted in my charts: “needs music on 24/7 .” My body was worn, and my soul deeply confused. I felt completely out of sync, which, in a strange twist of irony, my first concert was NSYNC.

“ Bye Bye Bye ” and hello to the new reality.

The new reality can only be described as going through the stages of grief. I was grieving the carefree person I once was. I lost my spark and found little to no joy in things that used to make me happy. I was stuck in a constant loop of negativity. It was like Daniel Stern from The Wonder Years was narrating my life, but the conversation was constant trash talk. I was told I had a second lease on life and to be happy. Toxic positivity at its finest. However, why wasn’t I happy? What was wrong with me? I became angry. I was happy to be alive, but I wasn’t truly living.

After much consideration, I sought out professional help. I was fortunate to find a therapist with a background working with cancer patients. This moment in time was long overdue; I should have found a therapist way before my cancer! I showed up to my first therapy session and said, “ I don’t know how this works? “

I really didn’t, and I was open and ready to do the work.

Therapy has been one of the best investments I have made. I was able to become aware of my blind spots and triggers, communicate more authentically, work through trauma, and found relief through medications. It’s like peeling an onion:eventually you get to the core.

It doesn’t happen overnight, so to numb the mental pain, I turned to food to disassociate. This was a coping mechanism I struggled with in adulthood. However, unlike in the past, my weight was out of control. While working with my therapist, we decided it was time to bring in a food behavioral therapist. My therapist calls it “scaffolding-”noting the resources are there to support me when I need it.

Through my work with the food behavior therapist, I learned to love my body again and treat it well, even though I wasn’t happy (and still am not happy) at my current weight. However, my food therapist said something profound to me: “Your body saved you.”

And she wasn’t wrong.

My body had freaked out so quickly to the early stages of cancer that I was able to be diagnosed at a rare stage one. I was no longer mad at this body that I had loathed because I was able to see this in a new perspective. I said thank you to this beautiful body and gave permission for my soul to reconnect with it.

Looking back, two distinct moments marked the end of the silent war between my body and soul. The first unfolded during a Utah vacation. While my family and friends carved through snow on Powder Mountain, I, a non-skier, explored the quiet town of Eden. A spontaneous hike led me to a panoramic nirvana, and I was utterly mesmerized by the majestic mountains sprawling before me. Time seemed to stand still. I couldn’t tear my gaze from the breathtaking scenery, and then, it happened: I cried.

Tears aren’t a natural reaction for me; I once viewed their absence as a badge of strength. But through therapy, I’ve learned to allow myself that release. In that moment, facing those mountains, I was overcome by a profound sense that I was going to be okay. The tears streamed down my cheeks, washing away a perfectly good makeup day, yet I wasn’t upset: I was happy again!

The second time my body and soul found harmony was at a concert in my town. A Facebook sponsored ad for King Kyote popped up. I checked him out on Spotify, and his music was unlike anything I had ever heard before, in the best possible way. I went to his concert and was so happy. Happy to be alive, happy to be able to hear this fantastic music. Like, seriously, check out King Kyote (#NotSponsored)! Music feeds my soul, and I was making her happy.

I am “needs music on 24/7″remember?

In the motorcycle world, there’s a saying: “one down and all up.” It means that once you’ve been kicked down to first gear, every shift from there is an uphill climb. My journey has been much the same: a continuous work in progress, marked by both setbacks and victories. Thanks to a trusted therapist, I found a safe space to unpack my displaced emotions and anger. My name, which stems from the Irish Gaelic word “warrior princess,” perfectly captures my spirit. While I’m far from a princess, I am a warrior, fighting to live a life of purpose, a life I owe to myself. And now, finally, I can look in the mirror and say those other three powerful words: “I love you.”

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Originally published on CURE Today.