These last few days have been filled with celebration: Saturday was my 53rd birthday, another year of being alive and loving, of being aware and awake and moving. We often lament the passing years as we “get older” (but forget the “wiser” part) as our knees stiffen and our minds lose track of words and misplace keys. I’ll happily take all of that (and more!!) if it means another hour, another day, another week, one more year. Better have that fire extinguisher on standby – I plan on a birthday cake with enough candles to burn down the house one day!
And Monday – another day to celebrate as it’s been three weeks since the completion of IV antibiotics for my superbug infection. I’ve been sitting on pins and needles for three weeks, waiting for the first signs of the infection returning, but I finally feel confident that the infection is gone, sent packing on its ass with its hat in its hand – and it isn’t coming back.
Good riddance!!
Lucy’s size has decreased significantly, too. While she feels very similar in size to Ethel, the only Twins they resemble would be Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Lucy looks as though I have a perfectly round implant perched high on my chest; Ethel looks like she belongs on the body of a middle-aged woman who’s breast-fed and isn’t fond of wearing a bra, falling rather “naturally” a good 4 inches lower than Lucy. Without a bra the difference in the two girls becomes visible and a bit embarrassingly obvious, yet wearing a bra for any length of time is considerably uncomfortable and even painful. I’ve taken to wearing spandex tank tops under oversized shirts to minimize and hide the neon flashing “Look at the Bobbled Boobies” sign that hangs from my chest…
Yeah, it bothers me. I never thought it would, I didn’t think I cared about my breasts or how I looked that much, but I do. I do. And that was a surprise to me.
But in time this, too, will evolve and improve. More surgeries await in the new year, and while I’ll never be perfectly symmetrical without clothing, no one else will be the wiser (except maybe Ken….)
Time passed and I was encouraged to return to exercising to combat the overwhelming fatigue and incredibly sad weakness. It was surprising (but not unexpected) how quickly all my hard work prior to surgery magically disappeared. So – I begin at the beginning, pulling out the old Couch-to-5k app so I can run (60 seconds) and walk (90 seconds), and begin the hard work of getting back to the Old Me. The first couple of runs are painful physically and emotionally; I cry because I can’t find my breath, my knees hurt, I used to be able to DO THIS and now I can barely crawl. But I know it will get better, that I will get better, and so I take a moment during my walk to be thankful for the ability to move, regardless of how fast (or slow) I’m doing it.
Another minute, another day…I have time to get back to this.
My first yoga class is both more and less of a challenge than I anticipated. I don’t yet have the range of motion I had before; I can’t raise my left arm fully above my head, and my Forward Fold is less Fold and more Bend. But when I flow into my first Downward Dog I hear an audible sigh of relief…and realize it’s from my own heart and soul. I hold this pose, walking my Dog and sending out vibes of gratitude for this class, my fellow yogis, and my ability to return to my mat.
Another moment, another opportunity…and there will be so many more to come.
Beautifully, my life goes on.
All along this journey Ken and I have been blessed with support from family, friends and colleagues – kind words, positive thoughts and prayers, delicious meals and surprise gifts to lift our spirits and warm our bellies and souls. The cards, flowers, phone calls, messages, all with sincere inquiries about how we’re doing. Reaching out across the miles or around the block, the message is the same – we care, we’re worried, what do you need, what can we do?
It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and attention, when I feel as though this experience is just a bump in my road. Everyone has their own story, is dealing with their own critical moments and life experience; we are no different, so I don’t often feel worthy of the attention. “Thank you” doesn’t seem enough, but truly my heart is full of gratitude for the continued outpouring of encouragement, positivity, comfort, peace, inspiration and strength.
There is so much love, and we are so blessed. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!
Technically, treatment for this round of cancer is complete. Granted, there will be scans and appointments in the next few months, but I realized the other day that life is moving forward and it’s time for me to do the same. I need a break from this blog, from cancer, from focusing on what has been instead of looking forward to what will be. It’s been a long four years of Cancer, but I need not to let this awful disease define Who I Am, so this is my opportunity to take back what it mine.
My life.
Tomorrow is the Autumnal Equinox. The light of day will give way to the longer darkness of night, but Livin’ keeps the brightness of love and life in sight. I continue to take a few moments every day to pause and purposefully internalize the gratitude I have for every sunrise, every day, every moment, every breath.
A life worth Livin’ needs to be lived; that is when the magic happens. It’s time for me to get back to that.
Thank you for walking with us these last few months (and years). May you be blessed with health, happiness and love – and much courageous, outrageous, adventurous Livin’ to you.
