The Balancing Act of Life and Cancer
It is almost strange how quickly I go from joyful to angry, when the steroids hit my body and I sit beneath that freezing cold, incredibly tight cap.
It is unnerving how the anxiety and fear sway in and out of my heart like a pendulum. Fine one moment, heart beating too quickly the next.
It is beautiful, the connection you make with other patients in the chemotherapy room. As we sit, suffering similar ailments, helping one another to feel calm on the first time, giving advice about how to keep our hair and exchanging phone numbers so we don't feel quite so alone.
People always comment on how young I am. You don't have any idea what I've been through, I usually say. And I let them know I am 29, not 19. I guess I don't mind looking younger than I am. I guess I don't mind the extra compassion they extend.
I get back home and I feel like I am waiting- waiting for the stomach aches to hit, for my brain to turn to a sieve, for everything to get awful again. And waiting, for Saturday to come and to feel better, to be reminded again that it won't always be like this, that it won't always feel so scary.
This morning I exercised, an incredible feat for all that my body has been through. I did planks and push-ups (only 3, my poor chest muscles), squats and yoga poses. And then I spent the afternoon falling asleep intermittently with a book in my head and my phone dead on the floor.
It is about balance, I suppose. Balancing my activity level, my emotions, my resolve and my desire to quit and run away.
It is about balancing the good with the bad, the joyful with the sad, and the rest with movement. And I will continue, for the weeks to come, to do just that.
One foot in front of the other.
Praising God that I don't have to go through this alone.
It is unnerving how the anxiety and fear sway in and out of my heart like a pendulum. Fine one moment, heart beating too quickly the next.
It is beautiful, the connection you make with other patients in the chemotherapy room. As we sit, suffering similar ailments, helping one another to feel calm on the first time, giving advice about how to keep our hair and exchanging phone numbers so we don't feel quite so alone.
People always comment on how young I am. You don't have any idea what I've been through, I usually say. And I let them know I am 29, not 19. I guess I don't mind looking younger than I am. I guess I don't mind the extra compassion they extend.
I get back home and I feel like I am waiting- waiting for the stomach aches to hit, for my brain to turn to a sieve, for everything to get awful again. And waiting, for Saturday to come and to feel better, to be reminded again that it won't always be like this, that it won't always feel so scary.
This morning I exercised, an incredible feat for all that my body has been through. I did planks and push-ups (only 3, my poor chest muscles), squats and yoga poses. And then I spent the afternoon falling asleep intermittently with a book in my head and my phone dead on the floor.
It is about balance, I suppose. Balancing my activity level, my emotions, my resolve and my desire to quit and run away.
It is about balancing the good with the bad, the joyful with the sad, and the rest with movement. And I will continue, for the weeks to come, to do just that.
One foot in front of the other.
Praising God that I don't have to go through this alone.
I love you! You are so strong and brave.
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