Waiting

Along with many people opening presents over the holiday, I was watching my kids and trying to stay fully present in their joy. And I was—truly. I was happy for them. Grateful to see family. Thankful for a break from the constant rhythm of medicine, appointments, and waiting rooms. To finally ring the hospital bell for ending the chemotherapy regimen. I made it to Christmas Mass and quietly said thank you for making it this far, because that alone feels like an accomplishment.

After everything settled, in the quiet, the fear showed up. The chemo pain was there—mostly mouth sores as my white blood cells dropped—but what hurt more was the fear.

I went after this cancer with everything I had. I didn’t hesitate. I accepted the suffering and walked straight into it, believing that pushing forward was the only option. Now I’m here, waiting. Waiting to get my cells back. Waiting to see if my body will hold up. Waiting to find out if any of this worked. And the thought I couldn’t escape was this: what if I put my family through all of this for nothing? What if I held them back, drained us emotionally and financially, and still failed them? The fear of breaking their hearts felt unbearable.

I even caught myself thinking—should I stop trying to be careful and responsible and just take everyone to Disney World? What if this doesn’t get better? What if this is as good as it gets?

We live in a world where everything comes fast. Answers. Deliveries. Fixes. This doesn’t. I can’t force healing. I can’t speed it up or control it. As much as I want to work again, feel stable, drive, be independent, enjoy people without worrying about getting sick, or even have a drink without thinking about consequences—none of that is in my hands right now.

This isn’t a fight I get to manage. This is where faith has to step in when fear is loud. I have to believe there is a purpose I can’t see yet. I have to trust that these cancer-fighting altered cells will do what they’re meant to do. I have to keep showing up for my kids—masked, tired, uncertain—and I have to keep hope, even when waiting feels unbearable.

So I decided to start something small—something daily—because I need something to hold onto when the waiting gets heavy. A mantra. And yes, I’m completely stealing it from The Princess Bride. From Inigo Montoya, played by Mandy Patinkin—a man who repeats his truth until it gives him strength. Mine goes like this: My name is Krista Collings. Cancer—prepare to die. I say it not because I am fearless, but because some days survival itself is an act of defiance.