I Worked Through My Family's Catastrophic Year

Here is a list of things that happened to my husband Erik and me over the last 365 days:

• Erik was diagnosed with Stage IV Colon Cancer, joining my diagnosis 18 months prior. To my knowledge, the odds of two unrelated people getting young-onset colon cancer together this suddenly are one in one hundred million
• I exhausted two different chemotherapies while trying to fight cancer that metastasized to my lungs
• Erik endured over 24 rounds of chemotherapy
• He and I spent a collective 30 nights in the hospital recovering from infections
• I started (and failed) a clinical drug trial that nearly killed me
• My lung collapsed
• We raised a kindergartener with no family nearby

When summed up, this list looks like an epic, almost biblical adversity.

Yet, as much as I could, I worked full-time. It sounds like I'm describing a post-capitalist, dystopian nightmare, but I did it because I wanted to. Here is what working through our most challenging year taught me about myself.

A career can be a calling.

Throughout history, people served in vocations and careers that defined not just their livelihood but their entire lives. You were named after your profession: Baker, Smith, etc. Thanks to the industrial revolution and the assembly line, jobs became tasks rather than professions.

But for me, my work feels core to my identity.

I work in solar energy; my job is to fight climate change, the most existential threat to humanity's existence. Each day I leave the planet a bit cleaner than when I got here. I want to do my job well because doing my job well helps future generations breathe clean air and live with fewer extreme natural disasters.

This feeling of a "calling" inspired my choice to continue working through my health challenges. It inspired me to be present when I felt well and work toward health while recovering. Looking back on this last year, I realized that my work is how I wanted to give back to the world, especially if my time here is limited.

Being helpless can make you hopeless.

Over the last three years, I took disability when my body could not keep up with my work. I spent that time re-learning to walk after surgery and recovering from chemotherapy --I even had to reacquaint myself with food after subsisting on IV fluids. Each recovery started from helplessness.

In the quiet moments when I was home, there were times that I was hopeless. It was frustrating to go from a healthy person to an invalid. Likewise, when Erik was diagnosed last February, he spent the first few months trying to acclimate to his new normal. We both clawed our way back from the brink while trying to care for each other and our son.

It's exhilarating to know your job has meaning, though it can be a double-edged sword. You're used to others relying on you and having agency about completing projects. Erik and I both had to recover mentally from our trauma, too. It was hard to return to the office after weeks away or miss deadlines when I was hospitalized. I grieved the loss of a future where I was racing up the corporate ladder.

Even if you don't feel called to a specific job, you probably have a picture of yourself at 40, achieving greatness at home and work. People respect your opinions and look to you for support. There is pride in giving confident answers and making important decisions. Each health setback that I received took me further from that future self. So each time I felt well, I picked myself up and tried to regain my confidence. Getting back to work helped me understand that a future was possible, even if I had to readjust my vision of myself.

As rough as my situation is, I'm incredibly privileged.

It would be cruel if I advised everyone going through significant health challenges to continue to work through them. Work was cathartic for me; it helped me feel a semblance of control when my body wouldn't cooperate. I know that not everyone has a choice about working through a family catastrophe. I must acknowledge the support that my family had while facing this challenging year:

• Erik and I both had employers who supported us. We used disability insurance. His employer allowed him to reduce his hours to part-time while mine allotted paid time off for medical appointments. They both understood that working was essential to us.
• Our friends and family donated to a generous GoFundMe, so we weren't financially stranded by Erik's reduced hours. It also gave us the peace of mind that when we can no longer work, we have savings for hospice or other medical needs.
• Although we don't have family nearby, our friends helped watch our son when we were too sick to care for him.

If you are an employer, I encourage you to invest in disability insurance. I also encourage you to listen to your employees when they need accommodations. Some chronically ill people may choose to work, while others may need time or request to leave the workforce. Please be empathetic with their request and treat them with dignity.

If your friends are going through a challenging time like us, reach out and support them. It takes a village to raise children in the best conditions. Just know that it can be tough to ask for help when you feel helpless.

And if you are going through a personal health or life crisis, understand that your feelings are valid. If you want to push through with regular activities to feel sane and needed, that's ok. If you need to mourn the loss of your "ideal self," that's ok too.

It may not get easier for me, but I'm facing it.

I'm optimistic about my future and starting a new clinical trial drug this summer. But the odds of surviving five years of stage IV Colon Cancer are just 12%. And Erik and I will likely have more setbacks, hospitalizations, and recoveries. This is just the first year of years of challenges, hopefully. But I've learned that I need to keep looking forward. I'm grateful that, despite the challenges, I get to keep leaving this place a bit cleaner each day.