Ugh. Number 4 awaits me.
I dread needles in my port, blood draws, and waiting for white blood cell counts. I dread breast exams, symptom lists with the doctors, and my view from the chemo chair. I dread the drugs that slowly drip into my body making me sluggish and slow.
I dread the days to come. The discomfort that creeps into every cell, the sadness that steals my spark.
Chemo sucks. Like, really –sucks.
But then again, it is kicking my cancer’s ass.
And then there is you.
The collective you. You who brings me dinner and leaves it at my doorstep. You who hand writes me poetry, makes me blankets, fills my inbox with positive quotes, sends my kiddos Legos, rubs my feet, cleans my fridge, buys me healing crystals, makes me lotions, listens to me cry, sends me comics, does my laundry, cleans my house, buys me lunch, earrings, scarves, groceries, and coffee. The collective you who thinks of me, and prays for me.
I picture those thoughts and prayers like fallen leaves swirling around me — a constant, tornado of love.
It might seem small to you, what you’ve done. You might just think my name and wish me well. But I feel it. Like sunshine on my face. I feel it. Your wishes, your prayers, your love. Like sunshine on my face.
And I know- this could be worse. A thousand times worse. Knowing this keeps my sadness in check. Some days I think, “it is just breast cancer.” It could be worse. Maybe it doesn’t matter what mountain you are climbing, we are all still climbing. Still moving up. Moving forward towards the sun, towards spring. Cancer is my mountain.
My post-chemo days will humble me. They will bring me to my knees, and they will remind me that I am sick. But I will keep climbing with you at my side, and when I have enough strength to look up- I will see the view. The earth at the end stages of winter. The trees and their shadows in the sun. The swirling leaves of love. The open path that awaits me.