Today has been emotionally and mentally the toughest day of it all. Not because of any particular event that has happened, but simply because it’s all catching up to me and I’m realizing this is the last weekend of normal for quite a while.
The reality probably started when I met my new friend Louanne (names changed for privacy) who has terminal breast cancer. I realized, this is real. And so because the onslaught of emotions, feelings, and thoughts are all catching up to me. It’s even the small things that trigger such a response in me. For example, shutting off all the lights downstairs before heading to bed and seeing my daughter’s little doll laying on the floor. Realizing that I am going to miss precious time with her and even the last two weeks are nothing but a blur.
It doesn’t even make logical sense that two weeks ago everything was normal. I was stressing out about weeds in my garden, when I could get my herbs planted in soil, when I could get my hair colored again, and getting the boys signed up for the summer reading program at the library. Now I’m staring breast cancer, chemotherapy, a double mastectomy with delayed reconstruction, radiation, and reconstruction surgeries square in the face for the next year of my life. Looking at my calendar and seeing Chemo written across my Mondays, blood cell booster shots on my Tuesdays, doctor appointments and me trying to keep the rest of it open from anything because I don’t know what kind of day I’m going to have.
Sitting across from Kay in group, she said “cancer is not over when they say cancer is gone from your body. Then comes the hair, the disfiguring of your body, the struggle for intimacy in your marriage, figuring out what is normal now that I’ve had cancer.” She said that many people think that just because the chemo is done and the hair grows back, just because the surgeries are recovered from that it’s over.
I think I am starting to realize how huge this journey is going to be and find myself questioning if I indeed have the strength (with God’s help) to do this thing. Not just the fear of the unknown, but the fear of myself.
Who am I really? What does this mean for my marriage? What does this mean for my children? What will life look like knowing that there is a 15% chance it could come back? But more than these questions, it’s the choice every single day or every moment to place my absolute trust in God. Stretching my faith to the maximum where it’s never gone before. Some days just relying on His help to even get out of my bed. Trusting Him when I have to lay my beauty down (no hair, no eyebrows/eyelashes, breasts removed) and discover the beauty within.
Today is hard. Really hard. I know there are more hard days to come. But for now, I’m going to enjoy a night out with my friend playing bingo. Tomorrow I’m going to enjoy church and being around my church family and friends. And Monday will be Monday. God is here today, He’s already in tomorrow, and He’s been waiting in Monday for me to arrive.
So let’s do this.
Since the day we met, you have been an inspiration to me. And this journey and the grace in which you go into it will to inspire me. I know that even on the hardest of days, you will walk with courage and grace. You’re the strongest, bravest and most beautiful soul that I know… Cancer. Hair. Boobs. Nothing physical will ever change that. Your strength, bravery and beauty come from within. I love you.
Beautifully written Jenny and you will always be beautiful my friend. By the way, you need to start a book- you are an awesome writer. God is going to give you strength. I love you, I am praying for you and I will see you soon I hope- in the next few weeks.