Ryan Woods' Blog About Me...2012
Posted on May 11, 2012 by admin (Posted by Ryan Woods)
Normally when I speak about an angel in my life it’s going to be my wife or my daughter. In every way they are my angels: sent from God as carriers or messengers of love–yep, that’s India and Jess to a T. But in this blog post there’s another woman that I’ve got to celebrate, another woman that God brought into our lives for but a moment–but a moment that continues to make a major difference.
I never would have guessed the war stories that her body had endured. She sat next to us on the plane ride from Phoenix to Orlando two weeks ago and seemed as normal as can be. But she isn’t normal–very far from it actually. She’s as different as they come.
Her story is not necessarily mine to share and I hesitate to share any of it ’cause I’m confident that i won’t do it justice. So I will do my best as long as you promise me to follow it up by reading her own words and I’ll attempt to stick to my own experiences with her so that I don’t botch too much the beauty of her story as it really unfolded.
Terlisa was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of twenty-nine while a few months pregnant. That was thirteen years ago. At different moments along the way she’s been told that she’s terminal, that she’s only had a few weeks to live, and that she’s walking dead. She prepared herself to never see her girls grow up. She prepared herself to die. She’s written the goodbye letters, made the goodbye scrapbooks, etc. But thirteen years later she’s still ticking. Thirteen years!
But it’s not that easy of a story. Thirteen years of ‘surviving cancer’ isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You see, she’s not cancer free. She’s not a cancer survivor. She’s been on chemo for virtually thirteen years straight. Can you imagine what that’s like? Her body has been ravaged by chemo and radiation to the point that she’s had to have hip replacement surgery, she’s in chronic pain, and I’m sure a whole host of other war stories along the way that she didn’t share or that I’m not remembering. Her cancer hasn’t gone away either, in fact it’s spread. If I remember right her cancer is now in her brain, in her bones, and essentially everywhere in her body. She is still dying of cancer.
…and you’d never know it by looking at her or listening to her. Every day she leaves her house she puts on her heals. When she goes to the clinic for treatment she brings them cookies. She has a smile on her face as she shares her stories–though, I should pause to say that she is not foolishly ignorant when talking about the reality of her life and story. She spoke honestly and candidly about ‘miracle cures’, about the pain of hope, about the pain of the journey, the losses along the way, the loss of relationships, the loss of freedom, the loss of life, loss…Terlisa understands loss in a very very real sense and she is not shy about speaking into this loss. But she smiles (a lot), and she laughs (a lot), and she shares her stories freely and powerfully (and has in fact written some of her stories down as a part of a book called Unbreakable).
So we sat there on the plane and traded war stories. I wish I could have been more present and asked more questions but I was in the beginning of my own mini-battle of flying with an ear infection. Regardless, Jess and I left that plane inspired encouraged. How could we not? What are the chances that of the hundreds of people who could have sat down next to the Dreaded Cripple Couple it was Terlisa? And what are the chances that half way through the flight she happened to mention that she had terminal cancer? And what are the chances…we’ll, you get the point. We sat next to a messenger from God, a woman God sent to invite us to enter even more fully into the pain of terminal cancer and to walk that tension between hope for healing, hope despite death, and a hope that’s rooted with courage and bravery. At a moment when we had literally only days earlier found out that I had three to six months to live we were blessed to sit next to her. What are the chances?
See what I love most about Terlisa’s story is that it’s not a success story (sorry Terlisa! I wish it were and I hope it becomes one!). Don’t get me wrong, I want it to be a success story as we all define success: physical healing. But to hear a story of hope, to hear a positive story of a cancer surviver/fighter that is not tidy, that does not end in ‘and so I’ve been cancer free for five years’ is incredibly refreshing for me. There’s something comforting in the messiness of it. It gives me one more narrative to hold onto, one more paradigm to put into my bag, one more story that reminds me of the messiness of hope and survival.
I don’t want to have cancer thirteen years down the road…but I would love to be around in thirteen years! My diagnosis is very different from her’s and my current condition is very different and my story is going to be very different. But I could not help but walk away from our time on that airplane with my chest puffed out just a bit. I couldn’t help but walk away feeling a need for a bit more bravery, to face my struggles with more courage, strength, and dignity. I may not throw on any high healed shoes like her and I might not bake any cookies, but I do want to be like Terlisa in how I willingly and boldly face my struggles as they come. She never pretended like it was en easy path, but it was a path that she chose to walk down with grace and strength–I want that to be true of myself. Thank you Terlisa for allowing God to use you as a messenger of hope to Jess and I. I’m confident that your story is and will be told and retold–and I can only imagine the ripple effects that your story has had in your community, in your world, and in the worlds that you’ve intersected with in the last thirteen years! Thank you so very much!
If you’d like to follow more of Terlisa’s story (and you should) you can go to her website here: http://terlisafights.com/
