Sometimes the battle makes me cry.


Sometimes the battle makes me cry. Like today, when I knew from all the symptoms that my doctor would increase the low-dose chemo to its highest dose. The other med, an anti-malarial is too strong for me to function fully while taking it. The other options are thousands of dollars a year. So the natural options are pointing to increasing the low-dose chemo… again.

So I suck it up. I chastise myself for being a wimp while others I know are in full chemotherapy. They are losing their hair, enduring horrible side effects. So I push through again.

I listen as the doctor admonishes me to speak up and let my support system know what I need. But what do I need?

I need to be able to lift a tub out of the closet to organize my little house’s ever-growing items. I need to look around my home and see things in their proper place, rather than being nauseous and knowing I cannot get up and put that stuff away. I need to have enough energy to go for a 30 minute walk the doctor says is so important to keep me moving in the years to come. I need to have enough energy to meet my hubby with a smile and out of my pajamas. In a word, I need to be “me” again.

…And not just in public. I need after two years of battle to be beyond the needles, pills and ice packs. I want to exchange them for sassy heels and a dress two sizes smaller. I want something to show for my investment; more than scars, crepey skin and steroid weight.

No worries. My fight will be back tomorrow. My joy will remain intact. I will shelve the crappy diagnosis and restore my focus to who God says that I am. These days are few and far between in the 760 days that have made up this part of a seven year journey to wellness. I am grateful for that. My empathy for others is greater. My gratefulness for my family and the memories we continue to make is constant.

In reality, this is a blip in a life lived-large and impactful. Sometimes though, I just have it hit me and it takes a moment to remember the truth. I am loved and lovable. I am a champion. I am more than a diagnosis… I am healed.

And for just a moment, it is ok that I am human.