waiting. done.

Logic sucks.  And yet we cannot really run away from it.  In some ways, feelings suck too.  Guess it's all relative.  In the past couple weeks, I have had to weigh heavily on which I could rely on regarding my waiting game.

Another appointment after the last post still left me unsure.  Even more emotional.  Angry.  Lost.  She is probably a really good doctor, but I felt no reassurance from her.  As we walked out of the office, I saw the doctor that delivered E.  I popped my head in to say 'hello'.  He turns and greets us and then asks what our visit was for.  So in we go, into his office, door closed, and we tell him where we are at.  Let me say that he is the husband of my original OB, who has since left the practice to pursue another venture.  His nature has always been one that puts a person to ease and I was so glad that he was the one to deliver E.  So we shared out story..and then he shared theirs where they had a miscarriage on their first pregnancy before they got their two.  The sharing of that story brought a feeling that I can't explain - possibly the point of him trying to make the connection, to lessen the feeling of being alone that made an impact.

So off we go to discuss some more.  Time is not our friend as we approach the holiday season and vacation.  From the conversation with Dr. L. we realize that assurance and understanding is key to our decision making.  I request another bloodtest to check the numbers.  At least if the numbers were going down, I knew it was close.  Instead when I call to get results, I get the reply that she needs to call me back as she can't interpret the numbers.  I should have known from that point something was wrong but I was giving her the benefit of the doubt.  Doctor ends up calling me herself.  The numbers are high, not the direction that I had expected.  Of course there is explanation for it.  The nurse went ahead and scheduled an ultrasound for me based on her own conversation with S.  As much as this doctor didn't think it was necessary, I went to the ultrasound.  I finally saw the empty sac.  I cried.  It had continued to grow and now measured 8 weeks and 5 days.

To see a tv screen that I have watched through the years show me each of my babies, I felt dejected to see that sac just empty.  But I needed that confirmation.  I needed to see it for myself.  It would have a miracle to see anything else in there, but I do believe in them...but not this time.

Friday I called the nurse to tell her to put me on the schedule for either Monday or Tuesday as later in the week didn't work with the kids schedule and the nearness of the holidays.  I wanted Dr. L. but he was already booked solid for Monday.  I was scheduled for the new doctor.  The nurse already knew I needed to meet her so she scheduled the appointment before I spoke with her.  I had many hopes that I would be able to call on Monday and cancel everything.  Nothing.  So frustrating.

I met the doctor Monday afternoon.  Matter of fact answers.  Inflection in the appropriate spots.  Although I didn't know her, I was okay with it.  Maybe it was best that she didn't know me either.

My original surgical time was 2:30 Tuesday.  I was bumped up to 10:30.  As we drove down Woodward, all I could think of was the day we drove down to have E.  Such a different thing to know that we were not going there to have a baby.  We checked in a little before 8:30 at the Cancer Center (yeah, I laughed...of all places, the alternative surgical suite was in that building..talk about feeling like I was getting kicked in the shins).  In the hour of so that I was alone in the pre-op, I think I was pretty okay.  The only times I shed tears were when I would see the procedure listed on the paperwork I had to sign.  Dilalation and cutterage with suction for an empty sac.  Uggg.  She finally came.  She met S.  She asked if we wanted to send the tissue to be examined.  I started to cry.  I felt her hand on my leg, rubbing it to say it was okay.  I cried some more.  Somebody please wake me up from this nightmare!  Apparently they could possibly determine why it was not viable.  He didn't want it.  Part of me did...I needed answers.  I told her no.  Anesthesia started to work.  I remember him kissing me and then nothing until I was trying to wake up.

11:24 I saw on the clock.  Nurse said I had been there for about 30 minutes already so it had gone quickly. I was just glad I was waking up on my own for once.  I was calm.  I didn't cry.  They got him.  He looked relieved to see me.  After that things moved quickly.  Changing.  Leaving.  Driving away and leaving a part of me there.  I slept most of the afternoon.  Back to normal activities with the kids when they got home.

I don't know what will happen the next few days.  I have to move forward for my kids and family.  December 18, 2012 - another marker day in my life.  I think I have way too many marker days for someone my age...but I guess that would be totally on-point for me then, eh?

waiting

They say patience is a virtue.  I've never been good at the waiting game.  But I've been waiting...it will be a week tomorrow.  In many ways I don't want to publish this post.  I think I have accepted my fate, but I still haven't really.  I guess the longer my wait, the more I try to make those deals with God that are fruitless, but they are human reactions.

So what's with the ambiguity about?  Why am I so vague?  Because the flip side is that I have not accepted my fate.  Last Tuesday, I was by a calendar, nine weeks and five days pregnant.  Did I say that?  Yes, I said that.  Last week, I was to head into my first (and last) OB appointment.  I was nervous.  I wasn't ready.  I had figured the worst that would come from it was that we were going to have multiples.  Instead, I received the complete opposite.  No multiples.  An empty sac measuring seven weeks and a five days.  ((exhale))

So where do I go from that?  That was not the diagnosis I was expecting.  I was expecting the actual due date.  I was expecting the pictures.  I was expecting that we were going to devise this plan of sharing the news with the family...

I was relatively calm.  I think I was more in shock than anything.  I rationalized, internalized, and rationalized some more.  I did my usual.  I shrunk into myself and wanted to hide.  I felt like a failure.  I felt rejected.  I felt bewilderment.  Only when I felt his hands squeeze my leg did I even let out a whimper and then a tear escaped from the corners of my eyes.

I am a board member at UMCC for their Patient and Family Advisory Board.  I was at a meeting the other evening and was listening to the story of one of the other members.  She is the sister of the patient.  Her sister's story was the story that I had feared when I learned of my diagnosis.  A mother of three kids under the age of 10 at the time, with stage IV cancer.  She was terminal, which was not my fate, but something that haunts me to this day.  And then to top it off, I learned that she had lost a daughter at 2 weeks to cancer....really devastating as I recalled my own fears when I learned that E was on her way.  That night would have been her sister's 51st birthday....

We painted the living room and family room over the weekend.  He pulled the piano away from the wall and there was my poster signed by family and friends my celebration of life party after treatment.  I turned away from it quickly as I felt the tears sting.  The emotions of that time just rushed forward.  I would think that I would have moved on and yet I still feel like I'm standing still.  The tears still burn, the pain still reverberates in my bones,  my breath still goes shallow and my chest tightens.  Why can I not get beyond this??

I am a five year survivor.  Five years.  I have been blessed over and over, everyday.  And then I get hit with the pain that others have - this member's sister story, A's daily turmoil, story upon story of those who have lost and I realize that I have not done enough, no where near.  I have drowned in my own sorrow each time.  Yes, I feel pathetic...

I stayed beyond the meeting end to help a staff member with a project she was doing.  She was creating a video for her advocacy class.  On white boards that we were to hold up, we were to write what we wished we had known during our treatment.  My sign simply stated "I wish I had known more than I was told."  That statement was simple, yet holds so much.  There is still much I don't know.  And honestly, sometimes I don't want to know more.  A double-edged sword.

selfish

Dictionary.com defines the following:

self·ish

   [sel-fish]  Show IPA

adjective

1.

devoted to or caring only for oneself; concerned primarily with one's own interests, benefits, welfare, etc., regardless of others.

2.

characterized by or manifesting concern or care only for oneself: selfish motives.

The reason I'm talking about it?  Because that's what I was called today.  I scoffed at it when I heard it.  I actually laughed inside and thought that I had been called worst things.  But to see this definition here...well, it sucks to see it, but I don't think I can deny the truth of it.  I shrug my shoulders and accept it.  What more can I do?

I'm sentimental.  I keep things for sentimental reasons.  I have not thrown away my cancer files yet because I am not ready.  [Although, they may have been thrown out already, in which case, I can go back to being bent out of shape because I am selfish.]  I have many things that are the kids things (notes/pictures they've drawn me, things they've made, etc.) because they did those things.  Hell, I even found a box of rose petals that came from a bouquet that he had given me in years past.  Well, if I were actually organized, I would have a spot for all those things.  Unfortunately, life happens and with that, I don't get organized and it gets everywhere.

My basement is full of stuff.  You can still see the floor, but there's stuff everywhere.  I get in moments where I do go down there and clean it up.  Those moments are few in between.  I don't deny telling him to go down there and just start cleaning...I just don't think I told him to start going through my stuff and throwing my things out.  Why?  Because I wouldn't say something like that because I know how I am.  But of course, that's what happened.  And yes, I'm upset.  I'm furious.  I could care less about the work stuff that gets thrown out, I'm mad because of the things that are sentimental to me.

And let me preface this with this:  I am extremely emotional right now.  Hormonally I am a train-wreck just by that.  But truly, I've been sad all day because it's my grandfather's birthday.  I had a rough time with N today as he was emotional and sad, which is not like him.  My mother is ill and can't really take care of E anymore.  Saturday is E's second birthday, which means it's been five years for me.  Five frickin' years.  I had thought that at some point, these anniversaries, or birthdays as they call it, would get easier.  It doesn't.  I had thought that it would just be always be happy because it is E's birthday and I am so glad that it's her day..but I'm selfish, so of course, I would cast a shadow on that.  I'm bitter right now.  I'm angry.  Frustrated.  Tired.  Selfish.

Every year, around this time, I fall apart.  Dammit.  I don't expect pity.  I expect understanding.  But instead, I usually get the 'get over it' thing, it's been x years now.  It ain't that easy.  I hold on to things because I fear never having the chance again of having A write me note or N to draw me a picture or E to trace her hand.  I fear that the ticket stubs to that Tigers game that imprints the great day we had with the kids will forever be lost because I can't pull those memories because I can't remember and need the triggers of these little things to help me.

Gahh.  This post is totally everywhere.  That's how I feel but I suppose that doesn't help me with much.  I started this off to laugh at the notion that I was selfish.  Me, selfish?  Really?  I don't do much for myself, I don't know how to be by myself when I have time for myself, I try to make everyone happy.  Awesome to know that that equates to being selfish.  Obviously it's time to go back to therapy.  I'm totally screwed up.  I actually felt good a few days ago because I thought that I was headed in the right direction.  Yeah, good joke on me, right?  Actually, since I wrote this whole post about me, guess it must be true.  Because if I really cared about someone outside of myself, I wouldn't spent this whole time talking about me.

'Twas the Night Before Kindergarten, 2nd edition

Dear Noa,

You are sound asleep in your bed. I watch over you as you hold onto your new tiger friend, as you breathe deep and burrow into your pillow. I am amazed at how much you've grown. And I hope you continue to learn, everyday, just how much I am proud of you, how I think the world of you, how I love you.

It's only been on a couple occasions that you have implied that you are a little bit nervous. At those moments I realize that you are still a little person, despite how big we all know you to be. At those moments, I realize that I still have a chance to feel your little arms wrap around me for just a moment longer, that your shy smile really is your armor, and that your strength really is so very strong. You are your own little man even though you try so hard to do everything your big brother does. I already know that you're figuring that out...I see you watching, learning and growing with your brother.

I think you are excited to be in the same school with him. I think you two will be better friends. I hope that you two are able to be strong for one another, to lift each other on not so good days, and celebrate one another on those really great days. And at the end of all those days, your little sister will be peeking out the car window looking and waiting for you, smiling and pointing as soon as she sees you.

I don't know how to tell you that I'm so glad to be able to see you go to kindergarten. I'm not really ready though. Part of me just wants to keep you really close in my arms. But I know you're ready to keep growing...and I want you to keep stretching. You are such a great kid! I can't wait to hear about your day when I come to get you. I can't wait to see all the things you'll do and learn this year.

Remember that I am always here for you. More importantly, remember that God loves you and He is always with you.

Love,
Mom

is enough enough?

There comes a point and time when I’ve had enough – enough of being tired, of thinking, of fixing, of saying yes to things that I want to say no to, of yelling, of cursing, of curling up and balling my eyes out, of feeling the strain on my back from the different muscles that ache from the duress, of staring at the wall, of staring at a computer screen, of scrolling through emails that only talk about more things that I have to do and get done, of…of…of…

I am there.

As I type this, my surroundings include the sound of a little girl telling her mom about which playscape she is about to conquer.  I hear the buzz of insects as they communicate their plans.  The numerous amount of flying bugs are my co-workers as they flit about my laptop screen and strewn papers.  My desk is a poly-wood picnic table.  My light is natural from way up above.  And my ceiling sways in the gentle breeze.  Nice, eh?  Yeah.  I thought so too.  That’s why I decided that my office needed to connect today.  It needed to breathe.  Because sometime, that’s what we need to find a little bit of motivation to keep going, to complete a thought (wish it could be the thought and maybe I had it but didn’t realize it was the thought), to recharge even for a moment, to determine that what I do really is worth it. 

Honestly I wish I had my kids with me.  Just beyond my laptop screen is the sandbox that the boys love to play in.  Trucks are waiting to be filled with sand.  The digger is itching to be used.  To the right, the swings sway ever so gently, wanting a little person to sit in the worn seat and let the recognized squeak speak.  I realize how much time I have lost with my kids when I sit here.  Those days of being tired and not taking time off so that they can run in places like this makes me sad.  I came here because it is familiar.  I haven’t been here since the boys were probably 6 and 2.  After treatment.  I laid on a bench and looked up, never truly seeing how beautiful the leaves were and how dynamic the light filtered through the spaces as they protected this little play-yard.

Fast forward to today…the breaths I take are heavy and labored.  The need to hold my head between my hands and stop the urge to cry are strong.  I’ve reached my point of enough.  I’m stretched to be successful, to be it all, to be superwoman, and I.am.not.able.  Being here reminds me of all the things that I want to have for my kids.  I am sad.  So that is the topping on the cake, I guess.  Not only do I feel overwhelmed at work, I now am overwhelmed by the things that I have yet to achieve for my family.  The ability to have my boys just walk down to this park and run off their steam.  For them to ride their bikes beyond the driveway.

Sometimes I wish I could ride my own bike beyond the driveway...

August memories

I feel like I'm a day late and a dollar short..actually that's how I feel most days so it's nothing new.  However, I wanted to have this post done a few days ago..on the actual day I was going through it but of course, never enough time or moments to actually gather the thoughts.

August 2012 is the same as August 2007.  The dates fall in line with the days of the week for both years.  I'm not sure what made me think of it, but on Thursday, as I was driving to work, I had so many feelings welling inside of me.  And then I started having the flashbacks of 2007 and getting sick and then the realization that I had started the fever and sweats on that day.  I remember calling in to work the Thursday in 2007 and because I had fever and chills.  And then the journey began...

The other thing was that this past Thursday was Marcellus' birthday, he would've been 5.  I don't ever know how to talk with the family.  I don't ever really know what to do.  Is it the survivor's guilt?  It used to be, but now, I don't think it is.  I just honestly don't know the magnitude of their grief...that was their child...how would I feel if I lost one of my own?

I did struggle to try and remember knowing that he was born that time.  I honestly don't recall, but then geez, I kind of had some health issues going on so I can't say that I should be blamed for not recalling that.  But it still runs through my mind, the coincidence of our situations, the timing...  Yes, I know, I think alot.  But I know things are bigger than me and so I try to comprehend that and see that big picture.  Each year, I see more of it, or at least a different side of it.  Will I ever understand it in my lifetime?  I don't know.  I hope...

My head is pounding. My nose is stuffed up. My eyes are red and swollen. I've been crying since I drove away without having E in the backseat. She is with her brothers at the grandparents house.

I cannot believe I don't have her with me. I have had her with me every night I have closed my eyes since her birth. She is with me every morning I wake up. She is always within arms reach...I lay my hand on her chest during the night to feel her heart beat. I brush her hair off her face. I pick her up and reposition her. I cuddle her close and breathe her in.

But not tonight...

Reboot

The only electronic device I have at this moment is my iPhone. Powerful device but I feel lost without a laptop, my notebooks, paperwork, the loads of things I carry on a daily basis. Where is all that stuff? At home. I left it as I rushed out the door to follow the ambulance that carried my mom.

I have much I could be working on, reading to be done, but instead I sit here and watch my mom and relive the earlier morning hours. I know my mom is old. I know what old age can bring about. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to let her go. That doesn't mean that I want to hear her call out to God and ask that He just take her at that moment. No. Not ready and as calm as I tried to be it was difficult to drown that out. And even more so difficult was when the patient registration person starts asking questions about advanced directives and wills - things that I know very little, if at all, about. But all the more reason to know then, right? ((sigh))

So here I sit, iPhone in hand. Blogging of all things. Never have any other time to do it but during moments of crises. Ironic. But these are moments when perspective becomes clearer. Where priorities are reset. Where the mind and body decides it needs a reboot. I've known for a while that I've needed a moment to do it. This is probably not the way I would've preferred but sometimes God has a way of catching my attention...as we all know I am sometimes hard headed to listen at times.

My life has been chaotic these past few months. I have had unhappy moments where I have been frustrated with my job which makes the rest of my life more miserable. I've had moments of clarity and understanding but fear and unrest follow it. That just seems odd to type and read...an oxymoron..

They have rolled her back in the room. I have watched my mom in hospital beds before. It's always me by her side. I look at her now and see how age has taken her. I see how vulnerable she is. I see how the staff treat older people-like they aren't cognizant. She's very cognizant. But they defer to me with looks of inquiry. I am the caretaker. Just as I am for my own kids, I am hers.

I chose to take her here to this hospital. This place has changed a lot in five years. Much nicer. Each time we've brought the kids here I revel in how different it looks from when I was wheeled in here. Comfort of the patient and families was taken into consideration. It's appreciated and noted. But the ghostly memories are still here for me. When I walk down the halls I see the images of past times. It's not all bad, it's just memories. Today will be another one.

I expect to take mom home today. What directions she will be given and the adjustments that I have to make are unknown right now. But they will need to be done. Rebooting is about the whole system, not just a single file. Not having all my work with me so that I could concentrate and reflect is my start at that. I guess you could say my cache is full and needs to be cleaned out. Only my iPhone to connect me to those outside these walls. Nothing more and nothing less..

inevitable

I had my CT scan last week.  Everything about the experience seemed all wrong.  I couldn't find my paperwork telling me the time and place to check in.  I get there and don't get all twisted around in the hallways.  I get my awesome smoothie drinks and start having a gag reflex instead of getting it down smoothly.  I walk into the room and they don't hook me up to an IV.  All the "regular" things just didn't happen.  It was disturbing.

Today was my follow-up appointment with the doctor.  I bring my little man with me.  Not sure why I felt compelled to take him but I did.  Anytime I have an appointment, I am by myself.  It's my day for my reflections, my thoughts, my time.  But today, I brought him along.  As I'm driving, I look in the rearview mirror and think about how much he's grown and how far I've come.  He was six months old when cancer snuck up on me and bit me on the behind.  Now he's five...

Driving in the parking structure, I notice that there weren't a lot of cars.  Walking into the building, there didn't seem like a lot of people.  Mondays and Tuesdays are the busiest days at the Cancer Center and it seemed awfully quiet.  Weird...

We head to the lab for bloodwork.  He's watching and I'm explaining.  He's scared for me.  Tech was good because I barely felt anything..nothing odd, but at the same time, it was.  We head upstairs and I'm still amazed at how un-crowded it was.  I expect a long wait so I take him to the cafeteria to grab some snacks.  I let them know I'm back and five minutes later they are calling my name.  Say what?  Yes, shocking...  We get into the room and the usual is about 30 minutes before someone comes in.  So not even 10 minutes later the fellow walks in.  Say what, say what?

Fellow says everything looks good.  She implies that I am on the road where I won't have to come in as often.  Will bring doctor in.  He comes in and says I don't have to come back until next year.  Say what, say what, say what?  He says not to worry about things.  I'm doing well.  He wishes me well.  He's gone.  Fellow says that I will get CT next year.  But after that, it'll only be regular x-rays and physical exams when I come back (which doctor implied would probably jump up to three year time frames after next year).  I'm not really ready for all this news.  I'm dumbfounded.  Numb.  Shocked.  Scared.  And little man is just sitting next to me on my iPhone not realizing what's going on.

I check out.  We head out.  There is a storm brewing.  A big one.  I can honestly say that in all the times I have come for my exams, the weather has been calm.  What came through as I pulled out of the parking structure was a wrath.  Thunder rumbling, huge rain drops.  Streets were flooding fast.  Again, not my normal day.

Gahh, when I finished chemo, I had issues adjusting to my new normal.  I guess this is where I'm at right now, another new normal.  I realize it's part of the process.  It's part of the path.  Part of the journey.  But to say that I'm not shaking a little bit on the inside would be a lie.  New normals bring about new things.  In hindsight, I know we have been building up to this.  In hindsight, I realize that things have already been setting itself in motion.  Ready or not, a new normal has commenced...

On his way...

Today, another chapter closes...preschool is over for my little guy.  Wow.  When did that happen?  I remembering labor and delivery like it was yesterday.  I remember having the family sneak him into the SICU floor at the hospital when I passed out and got admitted.  I remember those gigantic cheeks and Uncle Pauly hair.  I remember his little hand in mine as he watched his brother go off to kindergarten.  I remember his little hand hold his newborn sister's hand after she was born.  I remember taking him to the first day of preschool.  I remember him telling me the first time that he wanted to decide what he would wear.  I remember him getting excited about show-and-tell days.  And I will remember this day as a huge step for both of us.

Little man is my peaceful child.  My strong thinker and compassionate soul.  He has this twinkle in his eye and this smile that lights up the room.  He is the one that climbs up in my lap and rests his head on my chest, even though he has the whole rest of the couch available.  He is the one that will blink away the tears when he is hurt but will forgive you in a moment's notice.  He is the one that runs to the door when he hears my keys and makes me bend down and kisses my cheek and says how much he's missed me that day.  I know these days are probably limited but I will cherish them.

I'm so proud of him.  He's still shy and quiet, but he's strong and bold.  My little guy, becoming such a big guy...so proud of all the things he's done and the ways he's grown, even in just these past few weeks.  Kindergarten...((sigh))...he's on his way...whether I'm ready or not.  :)  

she's a beauty

Yesterday, I saw a report on something that I had feared when I learned I was pregnant with E.  A little baby girl, now 9 months old, had stage 4 cancer.  I forget which one, but it is one that can be transferred from mother to baby.  What I had, lymphoma, is another cancer that can be transferred.  This story of this little girl is incredible.  She's beautiful and looks so healthy.  But within her little body, she is fighting a battle that her mother lost only a few months ago.  Luckily, her mother insisted she be tested, despite everyone's belief that there was nothing wrong with her.  Test results obviously showed something very different.

I never insisted that E be tested.  I was in remission, there was nothing active.  I questioned along the way of the pregnancy, but after birth, I only watched and prayed.  I still watch and pray.  That story I didn't need to see, and yet, it was an assuring thing to know that I'm not completely flawed in my thoughts that things like that could happen.  But gosh, who wants something like to ever happen?

E amazes me daily.  I want to be around when she goes through all her things, especially giving birth to her own children.  That's the plan and I'm sticking by it.  :)  Have you seen her lately?  She's a cutie.  And pretty smart, too.  She will be amazing when she grows up?  How do I know?  Because she's already amazing now...    

Fierce

I'm watching my niece for a few days. Having four kids isn't so bad. It's hectic as I'm always turning around to count heads but not too bad. It's only hard when she turns around and looks for her mama. That breaks my heart because she is sad.

I also have learned that my baby girl loves her mama something mighty fierce. She doesn't like to share me or any of her stuff. LOL. It's heartwarming. It makes me smile. She really does love me!

The other thing I've learned? I love my baby something mighty fierce in return. As much as I know she has to learn to share and play nice, there's that part of me that I have to check because I want to protect her and make everything go her way. I guess it takes these times to really understand how deep the feelings run.

She's growing up fast. I feel like I'm missing out on so much most days. Guess that's just that fierce love saying how deep it lies that I just want to be there with her through all she does. Eighteen months next week...

Memories

Many months have passed me by.  I honestly didn't think that it had been as long as it appears, but alas, it has.  So many memories have been made...some lost, some still sticking around, some hoping that I will take the time to write it all down.  I will try to work forward and backwards all at the same time, to try and catch up for the time that has moved on.

Yesterday was March 19...it is now four years post-chemo.  I did not post that to FB.  I don't think it's important to share with people anymore.  Ultimately, that day only affects me and me alone.  I usually take that day off, to be with me and my thoughts.  I didn't get a chance to because of course, everything else happens and next thing I know, I'm scooped up in things I have to do for other people.  The fact that I even have time right now, to do this much, is amazing. 

The day prior, we lost power and so we found ourselves cleaning to pass the time away.  Sawnawai found my health planner notebook.  I saw it from time to time throughout the morning.  When I finally sat down to open it, it seemed like everything else faded in the background.  Page by page I turned, looking at prescriptions, calendars, reports.  I'm sure many minutes passed before I realized that I had started sniffling and crying as I turned those pages.  Soon the sound of the kids playing in the play room came back and I heard Sawnawai ask if I was okay.  I closed the book and ran to the bathroom to grab a tissue. 

See, my thing is this...despite all the love and care that I am surrounded with by family and friends...the cancer is something that is all mine because it was within me.  The scars that I still have, the pains that I have, the scares of things when I start to cough (like I just got over pneumonia) is within me.  It is great that people can feel wonderful knowing that I am well.  But every year, on various days, my body, my thoughts revert back to years past as it feels and relives the events of that particular day.  And no one, unless I make a mention, ever knows.  The fact that E was born on the day I ended up in the hospital, is the only reason that people know that day.  And you want to make a wager?  In a few years, most people won't even remember that.  Will I be mad?  No, it's not meant for them to remember but sometimes it would be nice for people to realize that the reason I retreat is significant and real.   

Four years ago today, I started my last set of Neupagon shots.  I started my last bout of post-chemo nausea.  I started wondering what life was supposed to be like for me now that my security blanket of chemotherapy drugs gone.  So many questions I had.  So much uncertainty.  So much remorse.  People, then, thought that I should've been happy.  But so I pretended to be that.  All the while, feeling scared and sad.

I have bits of pieces of things from that year.  I guess it's time to pack them up in a tote and place it on a shelf.  Label it with nothing more than the months that it contains.  Time to let go of the fear and sadness.  I will be a five year survivor when E turns in October.  That's something to be proud of.  This time next year, I could potentially be considered CURED.  So new memories need to have some room to grow.  Yes, I think I will stop and buy myself a tote to pack up all those papers, cards, notes, some scarves and hats (I think I can put the f*&k cancer cap away since A can read).  New moments in time want a piece of the action and they deserve it - just like I deserved another chance to at living.