Cancer Changed My Priorities: My Relationship With Time
- Deborah Ann Martin
- Aug 29
- 15 min read
Cancer Changed My Priorities: I Stopped Saving My Life for Someday
Before cancer, I knew life was short.
Most people know that.
We hear it when someone dies. We repeat it on birthdays. We tell ourselves to appreciate each day.
But knowing life is short in your head is different from feeling it in your heart.
Stage IV uterine leiomyosarcoma placed a clock in the back of my mind.
It does not show me how much time I have left.
It reminds me that time is passing.
I Used to Believe There Would Always Be a Later
Before cancer, many things belonged to the future.
I would travel later.
I would rest later.
I would have more fun after the work was finished.
I would spend more time doing what I loved when the children were grown, the bills were lower, the house was settled, or retirement finally arrived.
There was always a reason to wait.
Life was busy.
I was working, raising children, maintaining a home, solving problems, and managing responsibilities. Enjoyment could be postponed because I assumed another opportunity would come.
Cancer challenged that assumption. Cancer changed my priorities because I want to do what is most important.
Someday Was Never on the Calendar
The word **someday** sounds hopeful.
It is also vague.
Someday does not have a date.
It does not reserve a hotel room.
It does not purchase the ticket.
It does not call the person you miss.
It does not begin the book, visit the park, or plan the celebration.
Someday can quietly become never.
Cancer made me look at the things I had delayed and ask whether they mattered enough to receive a real place in my life.
Stage IV Changed the Meaning of the Future
Before my diagnosis, I planned as though time would continue normally.
I expected to work until retirement.
I expected my children to become independent and visit me.
I expected to travel when I had fewer responsibilities.
I expected my body to remain capable enough to do those things later.
After the diagnosis, none of those expectations felt guaranteed.
I could still plan.
I could no longer pretend the future owed me unlimited time.
The Clock Was Not a Doctor’s Prediction
No doctor gave me an exact expiration date.
The clock in my mind did not come from one medical statement.
It came from understanding that I had a rare, aggressive cancer that had already spread.
It came from surgery, chemotherapy, pneumonia, recurrence concerns, radiation, and friends who died.
It came from knowing how quickly life could change between one scan and the next.
The clock represents uncertainty, not a countdown anyone can read.
At First, the Clock Created Fear
I worried that I would not see my children reach future milestones.
I worried that my grandchildren would grow up without remembering me.
I worried that I would never retire.
I worried that I would spend whatever time remained in hospitals, waiting rooms, or pain.
I worried that I had waited too long to do too many things.
Fear can make time feel even smaller.
It can also make a person freeze.
I Could Not Spend Every Day Watching the Clock
Thinking constantly about death does not create more life.
It can take away the day that is already here.
I had to decide what the clock would mean.
Would it only frighten me?
Or would it remind me to use time with greater purpose?
I could not control how many days I would receive.
I could influence how I used some of them.
Cancer Made Priorities More Honest
Before cancer, many things felt urgent.
Emails.
Deadlines.
Household tasks.
Other people’s expectations.
A perfectly clean room.
Work that could have waited until tomorrow.
After cancer, I began asking different questions.
Will this matter in a year?
Does this require my energy today?
Am I doing this because it is important or because I have always done it?
What memory am I creating?
Who deserves more of my time?
What have I been postponing?
The answers were not always comfortable.
I Still Had Responsibilities
Cancer did not give me permission to ignore every obligation.
I still had to work.
I still had bills.
I still had medical care, household tasks, and family responsibilities.
Living intentionally did not mean behaving as though consequences no longer mattered.
It meant refusing to give every good hour to obligations while leaving nothing for living.
I Began Making Room for Activities
I love activities.
I enjoy doing something in the middle of a crazy life.
An activity creates a small boundary around time.
For that hour or afternoon, I am not only managing appointments, bills, medicine, and work.
I am participating in my life.
It may be something simple:
Cooking
Sitting outside
Visiting a park
Walking with a grandchild
Going near the water
Trying a new restaurant
Taking a short trip
Attending a celebration
Writing
Working on a book
Exploring somewhere new
The activity does not have to be large to matter.
Joy Needed a Place on the Schedule
Appointments automatically entered my calendar.
Scans had dates.
Doctors had times.
Medicine had schedules.
Joy could remain unscheduled unless I chose it intentionally.
I began treating enjoyable experiences as real commitments rather than extras that happened only after every task was completed.
There is always another task.
If joy must wait until the list is empty, joy may never arrive.
I Went to Ireland
Ireland had been one of the places I wanted to visit.
Before cancer, it could have remained a future dream.
After cancer, I understood that waiting did not guarantee easier travel later.
My health might improve.
It might not.
My mobility could become better, or treatment could create additional limitations.
I decided to go.
The trip required planning around chronic illness, medicine, mobility, fatigue, and medical needs.
It was still worth doing.
Ireland Was More Than a Vacation
Going to Ireland represented a change in how I viewed my life.
I was no longer assuming every meaningful experience should wait until retirement.
I was no longer requiring perfect health before permitting myself to travel.
I accepted that I might need accommodations.
I accepted that I could not move as quickly as everyone else.
I accepted that the trip would look different from the version I might have taken before cancer.
Different did not mean worthless.
I Learned to Travel in the Body I Had
There is a temptation to say:
“I will do it when I feel better.”
Sometimes waiting is medically necessary.
Sometimes the body does not return to the earlier version.
If I required my old energy, old mobility, and old health before doing anything enjoyable, I might keep waiting forever.
I learned to ask:
“How can I do this safely with the body I have now?”
That question opened more possibilities.
Memories Became More Valuable Than Perfection
Before cancer, I might have wanted an activity or trip to go exactly as planned.
After cancer, the goal changed.
The day did not need to be perfect.
I wanted a memory.
A tired afternoon could still contain laughter.
A short walk could still be meaningful.
A trip with a mobility device could still be an adventure.
A celebration I organized myself could still be joyful.
Perfection became less important than participation.
I Wanted More Time With People I Loved
Cancer changed how I viewed relationships too.
Time with people could no longer be assumed.
Children grow.
Grandchildren change quickly.
Friends become ill.
Relationships shift.
People move away.
Some stop speaking.
Some die.
I became more aware that the ordinary time spent together could become the memory I later missed most.
My Grandchildren Helped Me Stay in the Present
My oldest grandson spent time with me during treatment.
He brought me drinks and food.
He played quietly when I needed a short nap.
He walked with me to the sign and back.
Later, he walked around the block and on park tracks with me.
Those moments were not dramatic.
They were life.
He helped me focus on what we could do that day instead of everything my body could no longer do.
Small Walks Became Milestones
Before cancer, walking around the block would not have felt like an accomplishment.
After treatment and severe pain, it mattered.
First, I walked a short distance.
Then a little farther.
Eventually, the park track became possible.
Cancer changed the scale I used to measure progress.
Small did not mean insignificant.
A small activity could represent strength, recovery, connection, and another memory with someone I loved.
I Stopped Believing Joy Had to Be Earned
Many people treat joy as a reward.
Finish the work.
Clean the house.
Meet everyone’s needs.
Reach the savings goal.
Retire.
Then enjoy life.
Cancer taught me that joy is not a prize reserved for the end of responsibility.
It is part of what gives us strength to continue carrying responsibility.
I did not need to earn every good moment by exhausting myself first.
I Threw My Own Celebration
When I reached one year, I held a purple survival party.
I organized it myself.
I cooked because cooking is one of my love languages.
We wore purple, decorated, prepared cancer-themed goody bags, and shared real food.
I did not wait for someone else to decide that surviving one year deserved recognition.
The party was another way I changed my relationship with time.
I marked the year while I was living it.
Anniversaries Became More Important
A year after cancer was not just another date.
It represented surgeries survived, chemotherapy completed, pneumonia treated, complications managed, and days I had not been promised.
Cancer anniversaries can bring fear and grief.
They can also bring gratitude.
I learned to let a milestone be meaningful without requiring certainty about the next one.
I Still Plan for the Future
Living in the present does not mean refusing to plan.
I still think about retirement.
I think about finances, healthcare, my home, writing projects, travel, and my website.
I prepare for appointments.
I save when I can.
I make long-term decisions.
The difference is that I no longer want the future to receive every dream while the present receives only work.
Planning and Living Can Coexist
I can save for retirement and take a meaningful trip.
I can prepare for medical needs and celebrate a good day.
I can work toward future goals and enjoy time with my grandchildren now.
The choice is not always between responsibility and joy.
Sometimes it is about finding room for both.
Cancer Made Time Feel Uneven
Some hours move slowly.
Waiting for a test result can make a day feel endless.
Five years can also disappear quickly.
Treatment cycles, appointments, and recovery periods can make time blur.
A hospital day can feel longer than a month of ordinary life.
Cancer changed not only how much time I believed I had.
It changed how time felt.
Medical Time Is Different From Life Time
Medical time is measured by:
* Treatment cycles
* Scan intervals
* Three-month appointments
* Annual tests
* Medication schedules
* Recurrence dates
* NED milestones
Life time is measured by:
* Birthdays
* Family meals
* Trips
* Grandchildren growing
* Books written
* Parties
* Conversations
* Quiet afternoons
* Memories
Both exist on the same calendar.
I did not want medical time to erase life time.
I Could Not Wait for the Appointments to Stop
There was always another doctor.
Another test.
Another prescription.
Another symptom.
Another monitoring requirement.
If I waited until the medical calendar became empty, I would not live.
I began placing life between the appointments.
Sometimes that meant a large trip.
More often, it meant one afternoon.
I Learned to Use Good Days
A good day did not always mean I felt completely well.
It might mean the pain was lower.
My energy was better.
I could move more easily.
My mind felt clear.
I could tolerate food.
I learned to notice those windows.
I could use them for something meaningful rather than spending every one catching up on chores.
Rest Was Also a Use of Time
Cancer made me value activity.
It also taught me that rest was not wasted time.
My body needed recovery.
A quiet day could allow me to participate more fully another day.
Rest was not the opposite of living.
Sometimes rest protected the life I wanted to keep living.
The challenge was deciding when I needed restoration and when fear was keeping me from participating.
The Clock Could Become Too Loud
There were times when the awareness of time created pressure.
I could feel that I must do everything immediately.
Travel everywhere.
Finish every book.
Help every person.
Never waste a day.
That is not sustainable.
Turning survival into another impossible task does not honor life.
The clock should remind me to choose what matters, not punish me for being human.
I Am Allowed to Have Ordinary Days
Not every day needs to become a great adventure.
I am allowed to watch television.
I am allowed to rest.
I am allowed to complete chores.
I am allowed to feel sad.
I am allowed to have a day that does not become a treasured memory.
A meaningful life includes ordinary time.
The goal is not to turn every minute into an achievement.
It is to stop postponing everything that brings meaning.
I Became More Selective About Stress
Some stress cannot be avoided.
Cancer itself creates plenty.
Other stress comes from conflicts, expectations, habits, and obligations that may no longer deserve the same amount of energy.
I began asking whether a disagreement was worth part of the time I had.
Was I protecting something important?
Or was I spending irreplaceable energy on an issue that would not matter later?
Cancer did not make me peaceful about everything.
It made me more aware of what anger and stress were costing.
Some Relationships Became More Important
The people who showed up became easier to see.
Love became visible through calls, meals, transportation, personal care, walks, laughter, and quiet presence.
I wanted to make memories with people who helped life feel meaningful.
Cancer taught me not to assume those people would always be there.
Some Relationships Ended
Two of my children and their spouses eventually stopped speaking to me.
Friends died.
Cancer-support calls became silent.
People who had been present during the first crisis returned to their lives.
Loss changed how I understood time with people.
A relationship can change before we are ready.
That does not mean we should live in fear of losing everyone.
It means the time we do share deserves attention.
I Wanted My Work to Mean Something
Cancer also changed how I viewed my writing and Surviving Life Lessons.
I did not want my experiences to remain only pain.
I wanted them to become information that could help someone else ask a question, recognize a symptom, organize records, or feel less alone.
Creating the website gave part of my time a clearer purpose.
Purpose did not remove the need for joy.
It became one way I used the life I still had.
Purpose Is Different From Pressure
I made promises to keep spreading awareness about uterine leiomyosarcoma.
Those promises matter.
I also had to learn that I could not repay survival by working every available hour.
I am allowed to rest.
I am allowed to create slowly.
I am allowed to enjoy a day without producing something.
Purpose should guide life.
It should not consume it.
The Future Became Something to Visit, Not Live In
I still think ahead.
I no longer want to live entirely in the future.
There will always be another goal.
Another milestone.
Another treatment decision.
Another retirement calculation.
The present is the only part of time I can actually experience.
I began trying to notice it.
Questions Cancer Made Me Ask
* What have I been saving for later?
* Does it need a real date?
* Who do I want to spend time with?
* What memory can we create within my physical limits?
* What gives me joy?
* What drains time without adding meaning?
* Am I waiting for perfect health?
* Can the activity be adapted?
* Do I need action or rest today?
* What would I regret never trying?
* What deserves less of my worry?
* What kind of future am I still building?
The answers change.
The questions keep me honest.
Practical Ways to Stop Postponing Life
A meaningful step does not have to be expensive or large.
It may be:
* Put the activity on the calendar
* Call the person
* Visit the nearby place
* Begin the first page
* Take the photograph
* Cook the meal
* Attend the event
* Use the mobility aid
* Ask for an accommodation
* Plan the trip in smaller stages
* Celebrate the milestone
* Rest without guilt
* Create a memory at home
The important part is turning **someday** into something real.
Adapting a Dream Does Not Ruin It
A dream may need changes after cancer.
The trip may be shorter.
The pace may be slower.
The hotel may need accessibility.
The activity may require a wheelchair or scooter.
The celebration may be at home.
The walk may be around one block instead of several miles.
Adaptation is not failure.
It is how the dream becomes possible.
Loved Ones Can Help Create Life Time
Support does not always have to center on treatment.
Loved ones can help by:
* Planning an accessible outing
* Driving somewhere enjoyable
* Spending quiet time together
* Taking photographs
* Cooking together
* Helping with travel arrangements
* Walking at the patient’s pace
* Creating traditions
* Celebrating milestones
* Asking what the patient still wants to experience
Cancer support should include helping the patient live, not only helping her attend medical care.
What I Wish Someone Had Told Me
I wish someone had told me that knowing life is short is different from feeling it.
I wish I had known how loudly time could tick in the back of my mind after Stage IV cancer.
I wish someone had told me that waiting for perfect health could become another way of losing time.
I wish I had understood that a dream could be adapted without being ruined.
I wish someone had told me to place joy on the calendar as intentionally as a medical appointment.
I wish I had known that not every day needed to be extraordinary for life to be meaningful.
I wish someone had warned me not to turn survivorship into pressure to accomplish everything at once.
Most of all, I wish someone had said:
“Do not save every good part of your life for a future you have not been promised.”
Hope for Today
Cancer changed my relationship with time.
It placed a quiet clock in the back of my mind.
Sometimes I hear it when I am waiting for a scan.
Sometimes I hear it when another person dies.
Sometimes I hear it while thinking about retirement, travel, or my grandchildren growing.
I cannot stop time.
I do not know how much I have.
I can stop treating every meaningful experience as something that belongs to later.
I went to Ireland.
I threw myself a purple party.
I cooked for the people I loved.
I walked short distances with my grandson.
I spent time outside.
I wrote books.
I created Surviving Life Lessons.
I made memories inside a life that remained medically complicated.
I still have responsibilities.
I still plan for the future.
I still attend more medical appointments than I ever wanted.
I no longer believe life should begin only after all the work is done.
Cancer may always be part of my calendar.
It does not receive every page.
Frequently Asked Questions
Did cancer make me stop planning for the future?
No. I still plan for retirement, health, finances, travel, family, and writing. I try not to postpone every meaningful experience until those future plans are complete.
What does the ticking clock represent?
It represents my awareness that time is passing and that advanced cancer makes the future uncertain. It is not an exact medical prediction.
Why was Ireland important?
Ireland was somewhere I had wanted to visit. Going represented my decision to stop assuming I could safely postpone every dream until retirement or perfect health.
Did I travel without health limitations?
No. I traveled with chronic illness and limited mobility, which required preparation and accommodations.
Does living in the present mean spending irresponsibly?
No. It means balancing future planning with meaningful experiences now.
Does every day need to be special?
No. Ordinary days, responsibilities, and rest remain part of a meaningful life.
What if I cannot complete an activity the way I once imagined?
The activity may be adapted to current energy, mobility, finances, and health. A changed experience can still be valuable.
Why are small activities important?
Small activities create connection, memories, pleasure, and a sense of life beyond medical treatment.
Can fear and joy exist together?
Yes. A person can remain afraid of recurrence while enjoying travel, family, celebrations, and ordinary moments.
Did cancer make me appreciate people more?
It made time with loved ones feel less guaranteed and helped me notice the people whose actions showed care.
Support on Your Journey
Cancer can make time feel frighteningly limited while medical appointments consume more of it.
Surviving Life Lessons Community Groups are being formed so patients, survivors, and caregivers can discuss changed priorities, travel, celebrations, relationships, retirement, grief, and creating joy within physical limits.
Neighbor Chat offers a quieter place to talk about the ticking clock that other people may not understand.
Next Step Coaching can help identify one delayed goal, adapt it to current circumstances, and turn it into a manageable next step. It does not replace medical, financial, travel, mental-health, or retirement advice.
You cannot control every part of the future.
You can stop placing every good thing inside it.
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References
American Cancer Society. “After Treatment: Adjusting to Life After Cancer.” ww.cancer.org/treatment/survivorship-during-and-after-treatment/adjusting-to-life-after-cancer
Cancer Support Community. “Finding Meaning After Cancer.” www.cancersupportcommunity.org/finding-meaning-after-cancer
National Cancer Institute. “Fear of Recurrence.” www.cancer.gov/about-cancer/coping/fear-of-recurrence
**Disclaimer:** This article shares my personal experience and reflections. It is not medical, financial, travel, retirement, mental-health, or spiritual advice. Health, mobility, treatment, finances, and priorities differ. Discuss activities and travel with the appropriate medical professionals and make decisions based on individual circumstances.
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