Chill + Heal: Love Bomb Beach Trip

Sadie Lackey (@lackeysadie on Instagram), who is kicking Stage 4 Classic Hodgkin lymphoma, nodular sclerosis subtype, where it counts is a Love Bomb recipient. We are honored to share her words.

I needed a chance to think about nothing before I had to think about everything.

My pastor often says, "Change of pace plus change of space equals change of perspective." After eight months of kicking cancer's rear-end, I needed some of that perspective the preacher man always talks about.

I learned a new term a couple of months ago from a cancer support page: soul-tired. I can't completely articulate what this feeling is like, but if you've felt it, you know. It feels like your entire being has been completely emptied out, and you have absolutely nothing to give. Been there a few times myself. The upside of experiencing this feeling is that you can better predict what may exhaust you, and because of that, I can already tell you the next few months will be depleting.

June is going to be a lot. We will celebrate the completion of my six-month treatment plan back home and in DC. I'll see friends and family I haven't seen in way too long. I'll hop on a plane for the first time since August. I'll have another scan; I'll anxiously wait to hear the words, "No evidence of disease." I'll answer a lot of questions. I'll pray a lot. I'll probably cry a lot. And I'll definitely eat a lot of celebratory slices of sheet cake. I want to savor every moment of the next few months. I don't want to refrain from celebrating, planning, and reflecting, but I need a sec before all that.

So when Brooke from the Rural Gone Urban Foundation told me I would be receiving one of their Love Bombs, I knew exactly how to spend that money.

"What would you do with this money, even if it seems a little selfish?" Brooke said.

Immediately I replied, "I would go to the beach."

Brooke called not a minute too soon. I was fading. The weight of everything was bearing down on me, and I needed to be rejuvenated before the last leg of this healing process. I needed a chance to shake the frost from the past eight months. I needed a chance to think about nothing before I had to think about everything.

We took an extended trip over the Memorial Day weekend to Sandbridge Beach, promptly timed a week before my last treatment.

For four whole days we didn't talk about the cancer. (Well, I made jokes about it, but that's a given.) We didn't establish a rule that we wouldn't; We were just too happy to escape it all to give that jerk cancer the time of day. It felt like my brain went into neutral, and all I cared about was when we were going to the beach and where we were going to eat for dinner. Oh, and I put a lot of brain power into my solitaire games. That's it.

I also mourned. Shortly after we arrived, I went down to the beach and sat down right in the sand. The wind and waves were aggressive that afternoon. I sunk my toes and fingers into the soft sand and let the wind beat against me. I dug deeper into the sand as to anchor myself. That's what the past eight months have felt like: Bracing against powerful forces that I can't control. I took a deep breath and released so much pain, anger, and frustration. The shock of having cancer never goes away. I needed that moment to reflect on what the heck has happened to me and how far we have come.

I'm not any less anxious, excited, or introspective because of this trip. That wasn't the point. The point was to prepare myself to handle those feelings—to renew my spirit for all that is to come next. I feel ready now and am confident I can waltz into this new phase with poise and endurance. Change of space + change of pace = change of perspective.

There were moments during this trip when I completely forgot I have cancer. I was just so dang happy. I got a taste of what life without cancer is like, and, man, it tasted good.

If you're reading this and have supported, donated, or volunteered for the Rural Gone Urban Foundation, thank you. Your investment matters. Your sacrificial giving provided restoration for my soul when I so desperately needed it.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.

If you're considering donating to the Rural Gone Urban Foundation so they can drop another Love Bomb on a woman battling cancer, just stinkin' do it. Donate here.