I just wrote a 1,200 word post, and accidentally deleted it.
I told you about how my gene mutation is more complicated than I thought. How it puts me at risk for not only colon cancer, but also uterine, and cervical cancers.
I told you about how I might have to have a hysterectomy with possible removal of my ovaries.
I told you about early menopause.
I told you about how I want to scream, and break windows, and smash plates.
I told you about how awesome it was to have one of my blog posts picked up on popular parenting website. And I told you about how a few negative comments on that website, in a sea of positive response, left me sad. About how people were mad at me for saying that I don’t believe my cancer is unfair. About how I wanted to write back to them and say this is MY cancer, I don’t think MY cancer is unfair for ME, in the scope of MY life.
I asked you why we focus on the one spec of dirt on the couch, the one zit on our face, the one patch of gray in our hair, the one bruised banana in the bunch? Why do the negative words cut us down sometimes more than the positive ones lift us up?
I asked you — what makes a woman a woman?
I asked you –if you cut off its branches, is a tree still a tree?
I told you that the forecast is for snow. That it is getting harder to dream about spring.
I told you that I don’t want to go to the plastic surgeon, the geneticist, the echo appointment, to chemo #5, or chemo #6. I don’t want to have a hysterectomy, or go into early menopause. I told you that I feel done.
I told you that I am bending in this storm. That I’m praying for it to pass. That I am tired of loosing leaves, and worrying about losing my branches.
I told you that I am praying for strong enough roots.
I used a lot of words. And said “fuck” quite a few times.
I told you that I was so stressed yesterday that instead of taking a migraine pill, I took a sleeping pill — before dinner with my friends.
It was a sad post. Perhaps a defensive one. And then I clicked the wrong button and it was deleted. That made me cry, too.
I am pissed about this. About all of it. I wish there was a plate smashing store.
Then at Walgreens today I saw a woman setting up the Easter baskets. And strangely enough, it made me feel better. Because I know that this storm will pass. I know that my roots are strong enough, and I have to believe that even if some of my branches are cut off — it just might provide a better view of what is in front of me, of what is out on that horizon.
And i couldn’t help but think of the book “The Giving Tree”.
Even if at the end of this, I am just a stump — I hope I am the type of stump that might offer someone rest.