I was supposed to have chemo on Friday. But because of Carl (the name I have my JP drain), it had to be delayed a week.
At first, I was just jazzed about the fact that I still got to have Carl taken out on Friday. And that made me happier than a hog in mud.
And then Saturday. Saturday is my favorite. We’re all together. I don’t get a case of the lonelies. And this last Saturday, outside of resting a bit here and there, I felt “normal”.
So normal. And happy.
We watched football, we played in leaves. We hung from trees. I did laundry and picked up around the house. It was so blissful.
And then Sunday. Sunday I awoke with tingling in my jaw. Because along with cancer, I continue to deal with chronic hypertension. And so, because it makes so much sense, I got stressed. Stressed about my blood pressure. Stressed at the thought of having a stroke. Stressed that I didn’t feel normal like I did the day before. And scared. And I sobbed. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Big gaspy, ugly sob. I laid in Adam’s arms and shook. I cried out of fear for the unknown. I cried about me not being able to mother my children right now. I cried about having other people pick up my slack. I cried about everything.
Because while I have faith. And while I believe 99% that I will go through this and be cancer-free, the one percent sometimes breaks through. And becomes bigger than the whole.
When I look at the back of his head. I can’t help but pray to God that I will get to see the back of his head when he goes to Kindergarten. Or that I will see the back of Barrett’s head at his high school graduation. Or that I will see the back of Jonah’s head at his wedding. I look so hard at the back of his head and I sometimes get sad. That they have to see this time in my life. That every so often, my 6 year old has to see mommy, lying on her bed, sobbing out of fear of the unknown. Some moments, I can’t get past the 1%. And those moments are hard.
I don’t understand how one person can possess so much positivity yet have so much anxiety. Maybe that’s why I am such a feeler. Such a fan of words. I don’t know. But I know that I have days that are hard. Days that feel like I don’t want to get out of bed. And that I just want to sleep and wake up and have this all be a bad dream. But I do get out of bed. And I pray that God’s got the day for me since I don’t know if I can do it alone.
So the last few days have been harder than most. They have rocked me a bit. And I think that mostly, it’s because the plan was thwarted. The plan of chemo last week went awry. Because of the neutropenia and then Carl. The plan went haywire. And then I did. And now I’ve got to get back on track so I can be ready, guns a blazing for this week’s treatment.
If you, too, are on your own journey, if you are comparing any part of your existence to me having cancer thinking I am so strong, I just want you to know that I’m not all slappy happy every day. I am strong. I am brave. But I’m not always going to wake up and feel like it’s a great day. I’m not always going to feel like “I got this”. But I do wake up thankful to be alive every single day and sometimes that’s the best I can do.