Thursday, January 19, 2017
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Stunning.
It's a little stunning to find myself here. I am 4 weeks post-diagnosis in my battle against breast cancer. What's stunning? Everything.
It's stunning that I could be feeling just FINE and yet be dying on the inside.
It's stunning that these little clusters of cells pose such a grave danger to my life.
It's stunning that I have had cherished parts of my body removed and discarded, and pieces of plastic and rubber inserted (mastectomy, tissue expander, iv port, etc). I feel a little like the bionic woman.
It's stunning that the next step involves pumping caustic and poisonous chemicals into my bloodstream. I mean, really? We don't have anything better?
It's stunning that I am so matter of fact about everything. I'm neither frantic nor depressed, manic nor immobilized. I'm just...pragmatic. Still stunned, I suppose.
It's stunning and absolutely beautiful to me how many people are concerned, actively helping, praying for, supporting and loving me.
It's stunning the depth of emotion I feel for my husband and my children just now. I can't imagine I actually love them any more than I did 2 months ago, because I did. Dearly. I think that maybe I can see and feel the value, the preciousness of that love much more than I did before. They are so beautiful, so stunningly gorgeous.
The next 16 weeks of chemotherapy will almost certainly be the most difficult thing I have ever done, and may well be the most difficult thing I will ever do. Was this illness in my body a part of some greater plan? I don't know. I have a hard time with that idea, that the detail of human suffering is planned out in advance. But I do believe that as individuals we have the opportunity to meet our challenges in such a way as to improve our souls and the souls of those around us. I hope those around me are somehow lifted by their association with me, even as I rely upon their love and service. I hope I can be better off for having gone through this difficult time. The alternative would be to go through this life-altering, challenging struggle and be diminished for it. That would be stunningly sad.
It's stunning that I could be feeling just FINE and yet be dying on the inside.
It's stunning that these little clusters of cells pose such a grave danger to my life.
It's stunning that I have had cherished parts of my body removed and discarded, and pieces of plastic and rubber inserted (mastectomy, tissue expander, iv port, etc). I feel a little like the bionic woman.
It's stunning that the next step involves pumping caustic and poisonous chemicals into my bloodstream. I mean, really? We don't have anything better?
It's stunning that I am so matter of fact about everything. I'm neither frantic nor depressed, manic nor immobilized. I'm just...pragmatic. Still stunned, I suppose.
It's stunning and absolutely beautiful to me how many people are concerned, actively helping, praying for, supporting and loving me.
It's stunning the depth of emotion I feel for my husband and my children just now. I can't imagine I actually love them any more than I did 2 months ago, because I did. Dearly. I think that maybe I can see and feel the value, the preciousness of that love much more than I did before. They are so beautiful, so stunningly gorgeous.
The next 16 weeks of chemotherapy will almost certainly be the most difficult thing I have ever done, and may well be the most difficult thing I will ever do. Was this illness in my body a part of some greater plan? I don't know. I have a hard time with that idea, that the detail of human suffering is planned out in advance. But I do believe that as individuals we have the opportunity to meet our challenges in such a way as to improve our souls and the souls of those around us. I hope those around me are somehow lifted by their association with me, even as I rely upon their love and service. I hope I can be better off for having gone through this difficult time. The alternative would be to go through this life-altering, challenging struggle and be diminished for it. That would be stunningly sad.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Childlike
I was thinking the other day about how kids are. You know how they think that everything is a treasure? The rusty bolt they found in the dirt on the way home from school, the faded handkerchief that blew into the yard in the last wind storm, the stick that looks exactly like a light saber (if you turn you head sideways and squint.) Sometime this penchant for collecting junk drives me crazy, especially when I'm cleaning handfuls small berries out of the dryer lint screen or trying to explain why a rusty saw blade might not make the best toy. But yesterday, as I was contemplating a neighbors discarded junk mail that somehow found it's way onto our basement bookshelf, I realized that I actually envy them. Not all the junk, of course; my OCD tendencies would never let me go quite that far. No, what I envy is their ability to find beauty everywhere. The fact that in their world, everything is cool. Everything is a treasure. Nothing is worthless. It's all new, all fresh, all interesting. How cool would it be to live in a world like that again? To not be jaded or tired; to find excitement and wonder in each new day. How lovely that would be.
I think this is one of the things that I find so attractive about religion (at least most religions.) Religion is hopeful and thankful, and encourages us to treat daily life and our presence in this world as if it were a wondrous gift. I like that attitude. It helps me find a way through what is often the drudgery and tragedy that everyday life can be. It helps me find joy.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Thursday, December 29, 2011
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