Today I received the most wonderful gift - an old neighbour (as in someone who used to be my neighnbour as opposed to a neighbour who is old!) called in during a short visit to my parents house to give me a painting she had done for me. She called it 'Strong Trees', because you're so strong, she said.It made me think of how many people have said this to me over the last 6 months. People have even gone so far as to say that seeing my 'strength' has made them worry that, should something like this ever happen to them, they would be unable to cope in a similar manner. Well, let me reassure you.If somebody, a year ago, had told me I would be where I am now and I would be fine with it, I would have never believed it. I would have thought I would crumble, wallow, break. I haven't. Why? Who knows. My only explanation is that it doesn't all come at once. It starts small and grows. However, by the time you take the next hit, the previous one is already the norm and you've grown stronger from the experience. That's life. It's not a co-incidence that in general a 60 year old is going to be better equipped emotionally and mentally to cope with a traumatic experience than a 14 year old. Let me use my own short story of the last 6 months as an example:Lumps in my neck, assumed to be an infection, I go to the doctor. They rule out one thing after another, lymphoma was mentioned but never ruled out. Over the 3 weeks of testing, biopsies, scans, appointments, I was scared, cried, panicked, worried and came to terms with the fact that I had cancer.I spent a week researching and learning about chemo. I prepared myself mentally for the sickness, the pain and made the decision that I was going to have to drag myself up each time lest I spend the next 6 months in bed.. On this day I experienced the worst sickness I had ever had and over the next few days I recovered.. I knew that this was the point my hair would fall out, I was terrified. The day it started was a low point. Suddenly it was real, really happening. I cried again. 3 days later I shaved it off. From then on, hair loss didn't bother me, not once.After number 3 my blood counts plummeted. I received the infamous shot of neulasta. This week was the worst yet, I was in pain that made me cry...all day every day for a week. By the next chemo, it seemed like a nice day out in comparison. By the time it came to another shot, I opted for the daily self injections. With that pain as an alternative, self injection seemed like a much better alternative.At this point my veins had failed. I needed a PICC line inserted into my arm, through my veins to my heart. This tube would hang 4 inches from my arm, held in place with a plastic lock stuck to my skin, for the next 4 months. This was unfathomable. I felt sick going to have it inserted. I couldn't look at it for days. I held my arm awkwardly, was conscious while sleeping, with sleeves, towels, the thought of tugging it was terrifying. At the next chemo I realised how smooth it went, how much less painful it was than the vein game I had gotten so used to, how I had no aching, no chemical phlebitis.After 4 chemos I had a scan. All clean they said, 3 more chemos. 3 days before the last one, I was called to the office. A mistake, it's still there, I need another 4 chemos. This drastically reduced my chances of PFS (disease progression free survival, the ultimate goal of all cancer patients). I could not have been more scared, depressed, worried. It took 2 days to convince myself that the only thing I was going to achieve by worrying, was ensure I was going to lose this fight. It was not over until it was over.. The months passed, one day my arm started aching. I ignored it, having gotten very used to aching. A couple of days later it was also swollen and blue. I knew this must be a clot. I went for a scan, I was right. The PICC Line needed to be pulled, I would have to do daily stomach injections for 6 months and have another line inserted in the other arm. Having been through the previous events, new PICC line, stomach injections? Please. Piece of cake.Next month, 5 weeks after treatment 12, I will have another scan. This scan will determine if treatment is finished or I need to continue to high dose chemo and transplant. It will give a very good indication of my chances of PFS / relapse going forward.Ifit's bad news, I'll be upset, I'll cry, I'll be scared, I'll wonder why me, I'll go to the hospital, I'll get more chemo, do the transplant and wonder why I was so scared. If it's good news, and this is over forever, I'll return to life. Just with a different view of what's worthy of my worry.What I have is not strength, it's a different perspective than I would have had last year. When you are faced with your death, are you going to worry about self injections? A tube in your arm? Pain in your bones? No. And you're certainly not going to worry about your hair, the embarrassment of talking at length about bowel movements and yeast infections. You wonder how people can worry about things that last year would have been normal concerns, can I afford this holiday? Someone scratched my car in a parking lot. My co-workers were bitching about me in the canteen. pfffft. Yeah right. The truth is that you never realise how strong you are until there is no choice. You don't face each obstacle thinking 'OK I'm going to be strong'. No. There's just no option. You have to get through and so you do. It's not bravery, it's not strength, it's survival and in my position, you would be exactly the same. It certainly doens't hurt to have an awesome family, awesome friends, a Nick and a Louie each time you get knocked down though to remind you of the reasons you have to get back up.Strong trees don't become strong overnight. Each day, each event, makes them more resilient. More beautiful.... Thank you for painting this for me