Survival

When I was pregnant with Sunshine, I had something called marginal placenta previa. Even though I had no problems because of it, I was continually monitored throughout the last half of my pregnancy, and we knew that her birth might have to be by c-section. I had also had trouble with low amniotic fluid during the last few weeks, which ended up being the reason they decided she would be born two weeks early. My midwife consulted with one of the doctors, and they felt it was safe enough to proceed with an induction and trial of labor. But after a couple of hours, she returned to my room to tell me that the attending physician had decided it was too risky, and that the safest route to delivery for me and the baby would be surgical. At that point, I stopped asking questions and set my mind into a sort of survival mode. I knew this was not what I wanted, but I knew that it was the only choice - and the safest choice - for both of us. I put everything else out of my mind and kept my thinking matter-of-fact. We were having a c-section, and that was that.

After it was over and I was alone during the night in a drug-induced haze, I remember the room spinning and swaying as I thought, "Maybe they'll just give me fluids to get the amniotic fluid level up, and then I can go home for the weekend."

Then I remembered it was already done. Not the way I wanted, but it was done. She was safe, and I would recover.

A couple months ago, I went into a doctor's appointment expecting to hear, "We need to check that out," but not prepared that by the end of the day, I'd already have a mammogram (two, in fact), an ultrasound, and a core biopsy. Again, my mind entered that same sort of survival mode. "Just get through it, there's not really any other choice."

(I mean, I guess I could have run away...)

Over the last two and a half months, that's pretty much been the way my mind has worked. I find myself telling people what's going on & suddenly realizing that I'm talking about me. I can't seem to get my mind wrapped around the reality that this is my life.

I have cancer. I am going through chemotherapy. I am sick.

"Who am I talking about? Why do I feel so awful? What is going on here? Wake up, you're dreaming!"

This is not what I want. This is hard. I want so much for my life to be work and carpool and school functions and grocery shopping and lunch with friends....all the things that it should be for a young mom of four. Instead, it's getting from one Tuesday to the next while trying to maintain some sense of normalcy in the middle. This week has been especially tough. Don't get me wrong, I am SO GRATEFUL for all of the help that we have - but I want to cook dinner for my family. Heck, I'd settle for having my appetite back so that I could enjoy something Sarge cooked for our family. I want to be at the school for honor's day. I want to feel like taking my girl to lunch with her friends. I want to be able to wash my hair and actually have hair left on my head when I'm done. (though I could totally give up shaving) I want to vacuum my own house. (yes, I said that. Remember it.)

Today I did something I had been thinking about for a while. I changed my Twitter bio. That might not seem like a big deal to you - but I never expected to change my bio. It was perfect the way it was. But if you read just that, you wouldn't know anything about my current survival mode. I needed to admit my circumstance. I guess I kind of think if I say it out loud enough, it'll sink in. So I'm living with cancer. It's not just survival mode. It's living. Even if it's not what I want. Even if it stinks to high heaven. Even if it takes the next 6 months for it to sink in. This is my life. And I will recover.