Still no news on the BRCA testing front. Truthfully, I haven't really thought about it much since that appointment back in May. It's August now, so I expect I will hear something soon, but Canadian health care being what it is, perhaps I should lower my expectations.
I'm coming up on my four year cansiversary. I've been thinking when I finally get to five I might throw a party. This idea causes me stress, but not cancer stress, mostly just party planning stress. Still, it will be quite the milestone. One, early on, I wasn't sure I'd meet.
I don't often think about the early days of my diagnosis, when all we knew was that I had cancer but we didn't know size or stage or any of that. I remember wondering just how much time I had, in a months and years sort of way. Would I see my sister have children? Would I make it through our three year posting in Korea?
These days I'm much less consumed by time, and how much of it I may have left. I attribute much of that to my new best friend Effexor. But I've also been working on trying not to freak out over every ache and pain. And on trying to be present and grateful for here and now.
I was laying in the grass a few days ago, with both of my dogs a few inches from me, watching whisps of clouds roll past me on a crisp blue sky, and I was so grateful. Gaterful for the day, and the sun, and the air, and my dogs, and my husband, and our families, and my life. I was so grateful for that moment, in that moment. And it was wonderful.
This is a shift. It used to be when I has these sorts of "out of body" experiences, where I became acutely aware of my surroundings, all I could hear was a voice saying "you had cancer, that really happened, bad things happen, this could all just go away." I didn't realize it until now, but that voice has been replaced, at least some of the time. I have a new voice now, that isn't talking about an end. She is telling a story. The story of me, which includes a bit about cancer. But she isn't talking of my impending doom. She whispers about gratitude, and speaks with awe about the beauty of this place. She tells me to be grateful for the day, because it is a gift, cliched as that may be. I'm trying to make more space for that voice to whisper about gratitutde, so she can contine to overpower the voice that whispers about death.
I'm coming up on my four year cansiversary. I've been thinking when I finally get to five I might throw a party. This idea causes me stress, but not cancer stress, mostly just party planning stress. Still, it will be quite the milestone. One, early on, I wasn't sure I'd meet.
I don't often think about the early days of my diagnosis, when all we knew was that I had cancer but we didn't know size or stage or any of that. I remember wondering just how much time I had, in a months and years sort of way. Would I see my sister have children? Would I make it through our three year posting in Korea?
These days I'm much less consumed by time, and how much of it I may have left. I attribute much of that to my new best friend Effexor. But I've also been working on trying not to freak out over every ache and pain. And on trying to be present and grateful for here and now.
I was laying in the grass a few days ago, with both of my dogs a few inches from me, watching whisps of clouds roll past me on a crisp blue sky, and I was so grateful. Gaterful for the day, and the sun, and the air, and my dogs, and my husband, and our families, and my life. I was so grateful for that moment, in that moment. And it was wonderful.
This is a shift. It used to be when I has these sorts of "out of body" experiences, where I became acutely aware of my surroundings, all I could hear was a voice saying "you had cancer, that really happened, bad things happen, this could all just go away." I didn't realize it until now, but that voice has been replaced, at least some of the time. I have a new voice now, that isn't talking about an end. She is telling a story. The story of me, which includes a bit about cancer. But she isn't talking of my impending doom. She whispers about gratitude, and speaks with awe about the beauty of this place. She tells me to be grateful for the day, because it is a gift, cliched as that may be. I'm trying to make more space for that voice to whisper about gratitutde, so she can contine to overpower the voice that whispers about death.
