The night before chemo infusion days were always so heavy. I was oddly grateful to be at that intersection. Provided I woke up, which I learned not to take for granted, I would show up at my cancer center and sit in my infusion chair and take another number off of one of the most devastating, dreadful, depressing countdowns ever to exist.

Glad to be in that chair hating why I was there. Both+And. Feeling loved by my incredible nurses as they pumped poison through my veins. Both+And. Grateful I wasn’t alone while feeling so lonely. Both+And. Glad to have my husband by my side but deeply sad that this was how we were spending our time together. Both+And. Round 2 had been a freight train of unexpected toughness yet I made it through. Both+And. Could Round 3 get any worse? Yet the reality I stared at the night before was that it could. Both+And. And the statement: “I’m glad I have chemo tomorrow,” is the most preposterous both+and statement ever to be uttered.

But I don’t live there anymore. That is a part of this journey that lives in the memories and no matter how close I keep them, they are memories still the same. So, how does this night-before-Round-3-memory impact me today – perspective.

Because even though I’m not going to my cancer center tomorrow for an infusion, I can still be grateful for waking up in the morning…something I try not to take for granted still. I can still be committed to continuing to show up and decide, on purpose, to do the hard thing trusting it will change me. I can still acknowledge that lonely is different than isolated…quite helpful during a global pandemic. I can still consider myself blessed by my husband, now also changed and still by my side even though everything is different. I can still continue to access resilience, the same kind that got me through 18 rounds of chemo, for the hard that I show up to now in life as a survivor. I can still choose to believe the relevant feedback of and the value in living the unexpected. And I can still hold, “I’m glad I have chemo tomorrow,” as the most preposterous both+and statement every to be uttered.

*Post 960 (AND PS. I chose this picture because it was the one I took on 11/19 of 2017, the day that I decorated for Christmas when I didn’t want Christmas at all, a bald head under my Santa hat….both joy and pain.)

Holding Both :: 11/19/17 :: Post 83

Chemo #3 is tomorrow.
I’m dreading it…because I know what comes.
I’m anxious about it…because I actually don’t know what comes.
I’m scared of it…because I don’t think I’ve fully recovered from #2.
I’m grateful for it…because one more done means one less to do.

What a peculiar space to sit in. Especially the week of Thanksgiving. I’ll miss out on so much and yet gratitude has a far more significant and richer meaning to me than ever before. Hmmm. Interesting holding both dread and gratitude together in the same hands. I’m emotional tonight knowing that the hardness continues. My stomach hurts. I’m nauseous. My GI tract is unhappy. My head is pounding. My heart is heavy. My spirit is overwhelmed. And I haven’t even started #3. My body, heart and mind are not in the greatest condition to begin another round and yet how desperate I am to get #3 over with so we can have #3 behind us. At some point in the next 21 days I will be able to say that I am half way through the hardest part of this full year of chemo.

Lord Jesus, I’m banking on you to give me strength and endurance…hope and light.

We also decorated for Christmas today…19 days later than normal for me. (Yes, I am THAT person) 🙂 But this year, I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t have the energy. I didn’t want to see Christmas through the eyes of cancer. But Christmas went up anyways because I don’t have a choice…Christmas will happen – cancer or not – and it’s not all about me. Just as Thanksgiving will look very different for me this year, I know there will be much to learn from walking through my favorite time of the year with changed eyes…changed perspective…changed expectations…changed life.

Bitter :: 11/19/18 :: Post 432

Some days are harder than others. Some days hurt more than others…. Today I have been bitter. Angry with the relentless devastation of an insanely ugly storm. I find myself disconnected from my scarred feeling-less body. I’ve cried uncertain tears of how to make sense of all of this hell.

Gratitude Month Day 19 :: 11/19/19 :: Post 795

In 2017 I found myself in a peculiar space – it was the day before Round 3 and 4 days before Thanksgiving. A Thanksgiving totally marred by the evil of chemo. And yet, I wrote “gratitude has a far more significant and richer meaning to me than ever before…interesting holding both dread and gratitude together in the same hands.”

A year later, I was having a bad day. A day where I was, “bitter and angry with the relentless devastation of an insanely ugly storm.” A day where I felt, “disconnected from my scarred, feeling-less body.”

Today was full of contemplation. I had counseling this morning and I was so low and tired and foggy…I struggled to find words to communicate how I was doing; I was frustrated that I couldn’t shake the “lag” that I was feeling. My counselor noticed. It was hard to hear that reflection…validating, but hard. I felt a little twinge in my spirit when she said I seemed really sad. I have a feeling that I am experiencing some extra heaviness because of how I am reading through my last two years to capture what I am grateful for this year. This is the first time that I have actually done that – that I have actually read through past posts on a consistent basis – that I have purposely reflected on where I’ve been. And while it’s been really good for me, it’s been really hard for me, too. Like…really? This really did happen….

And then there was a moment where she used the word ‘freedom’ in a statement and it occurred to me, like a punch to the gut, that I feel trapped. Trapped in a body that doesn’t feel like my own. Trapped in pain. Trapped in difficult memories. Trapped in the forever-ness of cancer’s impact.

But that’s just it. Gratitude Month Day 19 – I’m grateful that I was made to do hard things. I’m grateful that I can endure trauma. I’m grateful that I have a story to tell…and that I’m alive to tell it. What a bizarre tension to live in that I’m not looking for escape.