Sometimes the moments we show up for are really big like a job interview or an audition or standing up for a cause we believe in.
Sometimes the moments are small like a work task that seems mundane, or the routines of cooking dinner for the 837th night in a row and the next load of laundry and the scrubbing of a toilet, or maybe it’s simply the-next-small-step in the-whatever-bigger-process.
Sometimes the moments are circumstances that we never saw coming like a spouse filing for divorce, a death of someone we love, a lost job, …cancer……
When we show up to these moments, whatever they may be, we can sometimes feel like we are at the mercy of whatever happens—those parts that we can’t control—while we are there. And sure, there is some truth in that because we cannot truly plan for and predict what will happen next. But what if we showed up to these moments (or within them) reminding ourselves that we get to intentionally determine what is relevant while we are there? Is it to apply a lesson learned from a memory? Is it gratitude? Is it surrender? Is it open mindedness? Is it an unqualified, no-strings-attached-love, -joy, -generosity, -hope? Is it an opportunity for feedback…or for change…or for influence?
Cancer is teaching me this. It’s giving me practice at what it means to just show up. It’s challenging me to consider the relevance of my response and how, while there is much I cannot control, there is much that I can.
relevant [ rel–uh-vuhnt ]
adjective
bearing upon or connected with the matter in hand; pertinent
*Post 891
In the Quiet :: 9/12/17 :: Post 12
The quiet is the hardest place.
All the meds I am taking are awful for my system. The side effects are dreadful and then add to that the local anesthetic they gave me is also starting to wear off so not only am I feeling the effects of the meds, I am also feeling new kinds of pain.
I had to get off of oxy…that stuff was brutal. But getting off oxy meant more pain. And now that I’m off oxy, I also have some seriously unpleasant other side effects.
It all sucks. Sucks.
My head hurts. My stomach hurts. My muscles hurt. My flat chest hurts. My eyes hurt. My soul hurts. My heart hurts.
The quiet is the hardest place.
Now that I’m not on oxy, I’m not as sleepy. So I am awake more. And being awake is hard. I have a lot of time to feel. To think.
I feel twinges in random muscles, because, well, my pectoral muscles are now in front whereas they used to be behind. I feel my sutures. The ones on the inside and on the outside. I feel the holes where the drains come out. I feel the swelling all down my left side. I feel the tingling in my left arm as I can’t really feel anything but from the elbow up. I feel the pangs in my stomach as the meds are doing a number on my tummy. I feel the weight of an elephant on my chest every breath I take. I feel the feeling-but-non-feeling in my skin where my breasts once were. And it’s an awful feeling. I feel the ache in my back from sleeping in a chair.
I feel the antsy-ness of wishing to be anywhere but here. Anywhere. But I feel the tiredness of simply walking around the house. Lame. I feel the desperate desire to go back to sleep where I don’t feel anything. But sleep doesn’t come. I feel the anguish of my soul because I feel empty. I feel the shame of not seeming stronger. I am so tired. I feel more vulnerable than ever before in my life because I have to have help taking a shower, drying off, putting on underwear, pants and a shirt. Oh, and a little apron to hold my drains. Damn drains. ….The things we all take for granted. I feel sick to my stomach where saltine crackers are the best thing on the planet. Desperately praying I don’t throw up because the pain that would cause would be astronomical. I feel needy and desperate and physically weak and I hate that. I feel bare. Naked.
I don’t feel God right now. I know He’s here but I can’t feel Him. I know he’s holding me but I can’t feel it. I trust He is sitting here as I type… My mind and spirit know this truth. My body and heart are waiting. A precious friend promised to keep sending me songs…songs that I will listen to even when I don’t want to…songs that will remind me of the presence of God even when I can’t feel it. Songs that will speak to my body and heart in the waiting. I sat here this morning and asked, “God, what is today? What do you have for today? If I cannot sleep away this dreadful reality…this “battle against breast cancer” reality, what do I do with the awake?”
I guess He answered.
“Just be.”
I guess that means the rest will come. The long road ahead will come whether I like it or not. And I’ll have to practice “Just be” then, too. With a whole new set of feelings and thoughts. And I know I’ll be changed. Forever. I suppose I already am.
#$&! :: 9/12/18 :: Post 363
Of course my body is gonna have one last doozy of a period the week right before this uterus, and everything with it, comes out. *eye roll
Of………freaking……….course.
I’ve only had one other one since chemo shut everything down and man, wouldn’t it have been really cool if it had been my last?
Nope. No such luck.
What the crap ever. I get the final word you little #$&!.
“8” :: 9/12/19 :: Post 728
Ugh. The pain was significant today. I mean, I’m always at a pretty stable 5 out of 10, but today was hovering around an 8.
……more waves.
I wonder how long it will take for Anastrozole to leave my system. And I wonder how long I should give it before freaking out that it might be permanent.