It was a lot easier to be optimistic and hopeful about my cancer journey before they started actually treating me for it. Things look a
Those long hours after those fateful words were uttered ("This lump is new") have turned into days; the days into months. One month since my mastectomy, two months since my sentinel node biopsy told me I wasn't going to die from this cancer, at least, not yet; three months since hubby found that aforementioned lump. Three MONTHS! one quarter of a Year! In a world where I have to write every little detail down so I can remember it and regurgitate it onto the next medical form, I can do this math in my head simply and easily, every month.
In the beautiful irony of my body where nothing seems to be working the way it should, one process is strictly and dutiful functionary, and on time - every 28 days - I can count on it. Interesting to me that my cancer is in part fed by the same hormones that regulate my "cycle" Estrogen positive receptor cells. I have been able to easily chart my cancer journey because it has so perfectly synched up on a monthly cycle with my period. I look back and wonder of the connection between 'the crazies' that occurred whenever my estrogen got ahead of me - birth control, pregnancy, hormone replacement therapy (shudder) - and wonder IF I had listened to the cosmic signs of dis-ease within my body, would I be in the place I am now?
BKS Iyengar wrote "Fear and fatigue block the mind. Confront both squarely, and then courage and confidence will flow into you." I think that about sums things up for me right now. Sick AND tired. This disease is slowing me down just a bit, bolstered by some crazy lady hormones that don't have the best reputation for being on my side.
I woke up around 6am hoping against hope that I would be able to fall back into that blissful state of sleep that continually eludes me; the place where pain and fatigue slip away; my robo-boob doesn't ache, my body doesn't itch, my stomach isn't queasy and my uterus isn't cramping. Too much to hope for this am, though I am sitting here slathered in a very attractive colloidial oatmeal paste which is doing a small part in relieving one of my discomforts. The advil and antihistamine should kick in sometime soon as well.
Then it will be back to the business of living this life with cancer, trying to find the spiritual answers in this lesson that I felt so strongly at the very beginning. I have let some of that slip in away in the minutiae of trying just to live through it.
Even though I am still a bit shell shocked at the vibrant color of my new hair, the fact that I have gone out and shaved my hair short AND dyed it magenta IS a small victory on the side of courage. It is the 2nd time I have done that since my diagnosis, and this was by far the more difficult decision than the first time. I realize that I cannot make one small leap and call it good; courage is in continuance. Continue to get up, breathe, live, fight, love, laugh and cry. Iyengar also wrote, "Do not stop trying just because perfection eludes you".
I really like that one; I may have to have a temporary tattoo made up of that so I can stick it on my bald head after my hair falls out and inspire others. Now, though I need to go practice yoga.