I will be the first to admit that the mountain we
have in front of us seems IMPOSSIBLE to get over.
However you want to look at it.
But it's still there.
In many ways it is unbelievable to me that my
husband has terminal cancer.
Or even cancer at all.
I believed it more 5 3/4 months ago when he felt
like death every day. When he could barely move
or work or eat. When the only thing he wanted to
do was sleep. When he had to lay down on the couch
one Saturday after trying to clean 'his bathrooms'
because he had no energy left to move. When he
couldn't push a lawnmower to mow the grass.
When he would go to bed everyday at 9 p.m. and sleep
and sleep. When he coughed and threw up and had
night sweats. When he was sick. When he had fevers.
Nope. It doesn't feel real to me right now.
He seems fine.
He seems pretty darn good.
We like fine.
We like pretty darn good.
The only place I can 'see' his cancer right now
is around his eyes. He has dark circles there
that were never there before.
They like to remind us that, yes,
he still DOES have cancer.
(thank you very much)
He sleeps pretty good. He feels better than
pretty good. He works full time. He eats. He
cleans bathrooms. He mows the lawn. He is
practically his old self.
We really like his 'old self'.
Save it for chemo days and PET scans and doctor visits
and bloodwork and Huntsman visits,
you would hardly even know what was lurking inside
The chemo is doing its job. We
like LOVE that
it's doing its job. We are glad, grateful, happy,
thrilled, joyful, ecstatic, jubilant, giddy,
thankful, tickled pink and relieved.
Dare I say we even
like LOVE chemo?
Well I'm not sure Kyle would say he like/loves
chemo, but he would for sure say he LIKE/LOVES
that its doing its job.
We can all agree on that.
Sometimes when we lay at night talking...
(always with the night talking, is this when all
spouses discuss life? When they should be sleeping?)
...we marvel at what still waits for us ahead.
The time frame is unknown and I sometimes like to
have (frequent) panic attacks (figurative at this
point and not yet literal) about the future,
and all the hard things that are waiting out there.
My very own personal list of 'things to do' is long.
It makes me weary when I think of all the
check marks that must be made.
I have to remind myself this thing will be a
day at a time. I don't have to do it all now.
This is a good reminder for me, but one I have a
hard time listening to.
I don't like 'unknown.'
I like planned out.
I like mapped out.
I like knowing what to expect.
This whole 'not knowing' thing is for the birds.
A whole flock of seagulls or murder of crows,
or even a parliament of owls! (Hows that?)
But not for me. It ruffles my feathers.
(I couldn't resist sticking with the bird metaphor
for one more sentence, forgive me while I digress.)
I have to remind myself it's all about keeping
things in perspective.
Why is that so hard?
It doesn't change anything.
It won't eliminate any outcomes.
It won't magically fix a thing.
But it is useful to look at all we have come through,
and all we have done so far, so that we may
continue to take strides into the future.
Hopefully the past and the present give us courage
to face the future. And that strength propels
us forward yet again.
I'm all for a good 'breakdown and cry day'.
Oh don't get me wrong.
They are the very bread of life.
The elixir of good (mental) health.
The release that makes continuation possible.
Anyone that tells you otherwise is a fool,
So today what I have is a Pep Talk for myself,
as I try and bite off more and more things that
are making me stretch and grow in new, and sometimes
very painful and hard, ways.
Keep your perspective. Remember a day at a time.
Breath in and out. Cry when you need to. Pick
yourself up when you don't want to. Hug your children.
Love your husband. Keep hoping when you can't seem
to find any left inside yourself. Remember people
love you, your husband, and your family.
and 'Eye of the Tiger' and all that jazz.
For today, we've got this.
That's what I've got.