Right? I mean, that’s what I’m going with. Because when I go back and read the ups and downs from my first and second and third times as a mother. When I read the quiet moments I have had with my children and my gratitude for those. When I read how I battled with staying at home. When I look at the words about how much I am obsessed with my husband. When I remember how I felt a little lost right before diagnosis, as we had moved houses and I felt overwhelmed, I think “wow. I’m clearly crazy.”
Because I am not an even keel gal. I should try to remember that. I am a girl who loves the good days. The “highs” of life {not those kind of highs, people}. The kind who rejoices and celebrates when everything is going beautifully. And, unfortunately, because I get too high on the highs, I also get low on the lows, I think. I am not even keel. I’ve never been.
But I’m not apologizing for that. I feel. I always have. Ask my high school tennis coach. Ask the my high school friends who saw me crying when I was stressed from being over-committed in activities. Ask my sorority sisters who saw me cry when we met our recruitment goals under my tudilige. Ask my husband who has seen me struggle with motherhood — and feeling inadequate as I nursed sub 5 pound babies. And ask my bosses who saw me thrilled beyond belief when volunteers were happy with the outcomes of events. I feel. Hard.
So days like yesterday, I try to analyze. I try to figure myself out on those days. Why am I feeling low? I don’t want to feel low? I am happy. I am a positive person. Those days make me feel broken. Honestly.
But today. Today I talked with my therapist. And she said the best thing. I can’t quote it verbatim but she said, “You are a writer. And you are writing things in your head right now. Don’t write your own sad ending”. And I loved that. First, I loved that she said “You are a writer.” because you know how I struggle with that. And then, I loved that she said, “don’t write your own sad ending”.
She also told me that after seeing patients fro 25 years {she is an oncopsychiatrist}, I am having exactly the emotions she would expect. And that, well, that made me feel less crazy. That made me feel less crazy to tell you that on Sunday — God talked to me — on Tuesday, I felt sad and weepy — and on Wednesday, I felt normal. I mean… I sound a little nutty to me but hey, apparently, I am right on track! Woo hoo.
And then, I went to my Oncologist. Oh, Dr. T… he is the best {did I mention that both he and Dr. C, my therapist gave me their cell numbers? For some reason, I think that is so balls.}. Dr. T told me that the lump in my arm is a lipoma {fatty tissue deposit}. He told me that I am not crazy for thinking every lump or bump is cancer. He told me that he is so optimistic for me. And to go have fun. I love the guy, you guys. I love him {no worries, hubs. this is a different kind of love}.
So, I cried more today. But it was different than yesterday. Today they were cleansing tears. Because I felt like I wasn’t crazy — like certifiable. I felt like I had a normal reaction to chemo almost being done and a scheduled surgery date. I felt like I had a normal reaction to the idea that I don’t know what I’m going to do post-cancer. I felt like I had a normal reaction because you… yes YOU… supported me yesterday even as I poured out my crazy.
I know. You think I’m strong. And honestly, there are days where I think, I never would have guessed I could do this. But I’m doing it. But you are all doing it along with me. I don’t know if you truly get that.
Because part of my therapy is to write. And to be able to share. To be able to put my real feelings out and not feel crazy. And my perfect husband, family, friends, and even those of you I’ve never met, you allow that. And yesterday, you let me do that.
So, today… tonight… so much better than yesterday. So much less scary.
So if you are facing scary. If you are sad. If you are nervous. And anxious. If you feel like it might not ever get better. I can’t guarantee… but if you need a ray of light… a hope… something at the end of the tunnel… just know that I have been low. When I look back now at the first two weeks after I was diagnosed, I realize how low I was. How scared I was. How much I felt that I was dying. And now, it’s so much better.
I still have days. Like yesterday. But it’s the human spirit. It’s a village that you surround yourself with. It’s the goodness. That saves you. That brings you back. That makes you feel human. Even if human is crazy at times.
I know. This is not a blog post. I will have some that aren’t cancer talk next week, I promise. This is just a journal. A diarrhea of the cancer-girl’s mouth. A true moment. And I might regret being so open. Or I might, like usual, be so grateful for this platform. And someday, I’ll be thankful to come back and read these words.
So, thank you. Because today was a better day. Yesterday was a sad/bad/hard day. But today. Today was better. And I have to believe, tomorrow will be, too. And if not, others will be ahead. Because today. Today was better.
And so, I leave you with the ever-brilliant thoughts of Countess Luann…