Garden of Dandelions

Today is my 2 year Cancer-versary. Two YEARS?!

How am I celebrating? Well, I'm not. Thanks to this other "C" word disease that has taken over the world. You may have heard of it.

But I have, what I hope will be, an encouraging perspective to pass along. David is no doubt laughing at this statement, because he's more used to my discouraging perspectives I usually share with him.

My diagnosis 2 years ago came out of the blue. I was shocked, a little overwhelmed, fearful of what the future held. I went through a bit of social withdrawal during treatment being stuck at home and felt misplaced being out of my normal routine. Sound familiar?

And that went on for months.

But I had a lot of support.

From friends and family and the multitude of prayers lifted up on my behalf.

And my terrible days made me appreciate my good days so. much. more.

Am I going though all of those same emotions going into this 30 day stay at home mandate? Absolutely. But I'm not quite as overwhelmed as I would be, because I know what it's like to be on the other side of them too. And I know we'll all get to that other side eventually.  

Some things I've learned:

You are not alone. But it certainly can feel like it when you're staring at the same surroundings day in and day out and you're seeing FB posts about all the fun crafts your friends are doing with their kids, but your kids are all teenagers and are relishing this quarantine behind closed doors in their rooms. I digress...and perhaps rant a little.

I'm trying to branch out and do other things besides FB during this time, but it really is a helpful tool to have. It lets me feel connected to all of you somewhat, even if you're just posting a picture of your dinner. Post away! I appreciate all the informational posts about COVID 19 but feel free to post other things happening in your lives too. Not to diminish the importance and seriousness of the pandemic, but to help us all feel a sense of normalcy in this chaotic time.

It's ok to give in to mini pity parties sometimes. I sure did during treatment. Most days I could joke about looking like Uncle Fester, but sometimes a FB memory picture would pop up of me with hair and I'd go have a good cry in the bathroom. But then I'd be thankful that the meds were doing their job and I would emerge and carry on.

Tate has said a few times, "I don't even remember what you looked like when you had hair...it's like when we got the new carpet and I couldn't remember the old one." Deep thoughts from a 13 year old.

This sounds totally cliche but just approach one day at a time. When I heard "30 days" I had a mini freakout. But if I don't focus on the thirty part, and just focus on each day as it comes, it's much more manageable.

Support each other. Reach out. It meant SO much to me to get a simple text saying, "Hey, just thinking about you today...". I see a lot of this happening around me and it's amazing. I need to be better at it.

Chemo weeks felt never ending at times. But then, just like that, I was ringing the bell.

I've forgotten the horrible taste in my mouth from the saline flush accessing my port.

I've forgotten the aversion to some of the foods I couldn't eat during that time...ugh, marinara was the enemy!

And I've forgotten what it felt to be awake most of the night after surgery, trying to get comfortable in the basement recliner but not succeeding because I was stiff and sore and the pain meds were starting to wear off.

But I've tried to hold on to the good things that came from it. The compassion I feel for others when they're going through an illness or tough time. The help I can offer along the way. Even the hair tips I can relay to my bare headed sisters.

I was grateful when my kids started fighting with each other again, after they'd been walking on eggshells right after my diagnosis.

Just like I'll be grateful for my bad days at work when I'm able to go back.

Things like this change people. But I think mainly for the good.

And, no, David, I'm not turning into an optimist...so don't get your hopes up.