My crazy to Amazing

The muscles that develop as a baby falls and gets up again are the very ones that allow it to walk. Own the awkwardness. Embarrassment is a choice. - Shannon Skidmore

"Oh, look at that beautiful sunset. I have cancer." "There is my friend so and so who I haven't seen for awhile. Does so and so know I have cancer?" "I just bought a car, and a new bicycle. You know you have cancer, right?!" You only have so many spoons because you have cancer, hold back." Cancer is ever present in my daily thoughts ...how do I make it stop? I have been in mourning. Poor me. From the depths of my soul resilience emerges. I choose or choose not. Cancer does not own me. I act. I breathe. I consider. I do. I feel. I give. I hope. I invest. I love. I resolve. I seek. I try. I am not a silent passenger on a runaway train. I ride the track with mindful intention, taking in the sights, the smells, the tastes, the sounds, and the touches, atuning my senses and my soul until the track is no more.

Cancer is an annoyance nipping at my heels, an incessant awareness that cannot be ignored. It inconveniently demands attention mid-stride causing me to trip and stumble. Given attention, it's grip slowly releases only to strike again. Without attention, it bites harder tearing past my protective clothing daring to devour my very soul. Some claim to be skilled enough to temper and train it. We enter basic obedience and though unruly, it starts to respond well. The trainer turns away to work with another. Distracted, forgetting its presence, my attention drifts elsewhere. I notice others with their companions, daydream of blue skies and cool waters at a distant oasis, and witness black balloons floating up to heaven. Sudden recognition jolts me as it snaps at my heel. I struggle to regain balance. Sympathetic onlookers, friends, and family provide advice, encouragement, and offer to shelter it for me, but I cannot give it away or rehome it. Even if it were possible to do so, it wou...

When I next heard that voice while sleeping, I dismissed it. I recalled my afternoon 7 years earlier walking among cherry blossoms and observing koi. There was no evidence that anything had changed. My mind was playing tricks on me. Time passed. An awareness grew - decreased energy, shortness of breath, my heart skipped a few beats, then hurried to catch up. A Dr visit, followed quickly by ER. Out of shape from a sedentary office job, too much time driving a car, too many sweets and carbs, a poor diet. Try dietary changes, increase my fitness, take a prn medication, and check back later. That's all.

A new sensation, a lump, in my breast area set off my inner alarm. I left work early that day, after confiding in my boss, husband, and a sister. I was fairly certain it was back. Strolling through a Japanese garden i observed cherry blossoms and koi trying to calm my anxiety. I made an appointment. A false alarm. I will ignore these irrational suspicions, rather than be embarrassed again.

I had a premonition one night. The voice awoke me from deep sleep "you have cancer", it said. Timing was inconvenient; my plate was already full. My father was dying. My mother was grieving. My work was new and demanding. Our family calendar had little blank space to fill. There was no time for cancer. Three months afterward the radiologist said, "now, not later'. A whirlwind ensued, time was carved out for procedures, surgeries, and treatments. Friends and neighbors rallied around our family with abundant supportive care. My body soon mapped evidence of the enemy I conquered. I detail my journey, encourage other pink sisters. I wear a badge of honor. I am a survivor!

Coco entered my room each night, jumped on my bed and purred while I rubbed his head. Licking my hands, he moved his head from turn to turn using my knuckles to wash his face before stretching across my wrist pining it down to a resting place beneath his torso. Content we both drifted to sleep. Work schedule changed and routines were broken when Van switched to days and Cooper entered our lives. For some time Coco stayed away or was shooed away as unwelcome guest at night. Months later he established a new protocol. As Van leaves the room in the morning, his collar bell hardly tinkles as he nearly stealthily slips under our bed. My alarm sounds and he responds, his meow greets me with a little saliva on his already damp chin. Kitty kisses on my fingers. Pets, purrs, ear and chin rubs follow. He stretches elongated and covers my hand with his paws, one below, one atop, and we hold hands for a few quiet moments before the day officially begins.