Revealing Grace

This morning I woke up and it was if a dark fog had lifted. My spirits were high, I had energy (not my normal amount but a LOT more than this past week), and I felt. . . dare I say it? I felt joy.  For 7 days, I was struggling to find myself in the haze of steroids and chemotherapy drugs. For 7 days,  I was feeling just absolutely awful. I couldn't clean my house, walk my dog, or do much more than show up at work. For 7 days, I have eaten toast and eggs and suffered terrible stomach aches if I tried anything else. For 7 days, I have been miserable. And then today. . . I woke up with joy. I walked my dog all the way around the apartment complex. I ran more than one errand and didn't get tired My cashier at Trader Joes turned out to have just finished chemo with my same oncologist. She used the cold cap and everything and looked great. She handed me her number along with my frozen potatoes and told me I would be just fine. I went to grab a book at Barnes and Nobl

This is a post about the cracks- the cracks in my positivity, my resolve, my sanity. This is a post about the fact that even despite my best efforts, I'm really not ok. I have endured a lot of pain over the past five years. Divorce was awful and all that went with it was enough to make any person give up on love and joy. But I also watched students that I loved go through pain for years on the reservation, and it hurt. For a long time I was in darkness and I didn't know how to get out. And now here I am with another wave of shitty sad things hitting me smack in the face. And I've tried so hard not to feel sad about it because I've been so afraid of sinking into the darkness again. Cancer is the worst, but I've barely cried about it. I've been grateful that I caught it early, that surgery was successful, that my diagnosis is considered "good." But I couldn't figure out how to couple that with true anger and frustration, sadness and pain. And

Hi. I am tired. But I want to write while it is all still fresh. Today, I conquered my first chemo session. Granted, the effects of it won't hit for a few days, but to get through today was a serious accomplishment. I don't like to talk about this being hard because I know a lot of other people with cancer have it a lot harder than me, but for today, I am going to go ahead and be proud that I survived the day. The day really wasn't too bad. I was there from 10am-5pm. I was in the cold cap for 5 hours and that is honestly the worst part. It is so tight and it feels like someone laid a bunch of popsicles straight onto your head. It hurts your jaw and made me dizzy. But I know it will be worth it. The oncologist told me to be optimistic about my hair and that is a big deal. They don't encourage your optimism very often. There were moments of pain, moments where I was so cold, moments where I really had to pee but needed the nurse to unhook my IV so I wouldn'

On the day after tomorrow I start chemotherapy. I feel fine about it on some level, but I think the underlying stress of the unknown is also getting to me a little bit. Today it has been hard to concentrate at work. I feel quietly morose. I really badly want a nap. It is as if my mind and body are prepping for what might be without actually having a reason to feel that way. Food tastes funny because I am anticipating that food will taste funny. I am tired because I am anticipating feeling fatigued. And I just want to eat all of the chocolate and pie in all of the world while also wanting to only eat kale and carrots and meat and fruit. Needless to say, two days to chemo is a confusing place to be. My mind knows the truth- that all of this will be temporary, no matter how hard it gets. But my body is antsy. It reminds me of my dog when she anticipates that I am about to leave the house and gets into her ready stance so that I won't be able to catch her. My body

When I read a book, I never skip the “Acknowledgements” section at the end.  I read it word for word as the author pours out their gratitude to a bunch of people that I don’t know and to names that I do not recognize. I imagine, as I read, each person seeing their name on that page and swelling with pride that the author put them in the back of the book. I picture them smiling at their name in print, amazed that the author would take the time to thank them for their contribution to the art that is in their hands. I don’t read this section because I feel obliged to (like I feel obliged to stay to the end of the credits at the movies. Those people worked hard and I feel bad leaving before their names cross the screen!). I read this section because I genuinely love it .  I love the effort that the author takes to recognize that the journey of writing was not done alone. I love the feeling of support and care and community that the “Acknowledgements” page gives. It is as if I am

On Tuesday I woke up feeling amazing. I had slept well, the weather was beautiful, my energy level was up. It was also the day that I went in for "chemo teaching." As I took a shower and got ready to a happy playlist, I repeated a mantra in my head. I am happy, I am well, I feel great.  It sounds silly, but I have to remind myself of good things so as to defeat the negativity that loves to try and take over. It really sucks how easily negative thoughts can slip in. It was the happiest morning I had had in a while, but it just took one look in the mirror to suddenly feel disgusted by my healing scars or frustrated by the weight I have gained.  As I took the dog for a longer walk than we have been on in ages, fear started to creep in that my chest pain would begin at any second. My brain would shift to the potential sadness I might have at the oncology center later that day. At every turn, negativity and fear tried to creep in and rob me of the progress I was feeli