For the first time, possibly ever, I am struggling to write, to care enough to type out a few words about how I'm doing. Or perhaps more accurately - how I'm not doing.
I'm recovering from the surgery just fine. The doctor removed what was left of the lump and the surrounding lymph nodes.
I'm waiting to hear back about the results: was it just "rubble"? Was there active cancer contained in the rubble that was successfully removed? Or do I still have cancer?
I'm sorry to report that I'm not handling this waiting very well. I've had it. I'm tired, sore and my soul is weary. I pray all the time but it feels like I'm going through the motions. I sleep and read a lot, because when I'm awake or aware I'm so clenched with worry I can barely function.
I wasn't going to post until I had the results, but I've gotten so many "are you okay?" messages that I knew I had to at least check in.
So I'm okay, but I'm not.
I think I'm going to have to get used to living this way.
I don't know what happens if I still have cancer. My doctors, smartly, refused to talk to me about it in detail. Getting my mind to stop awfulizing is next to impossible. This is my trial, I guess, the thing that I must go through so I can learn how to live with more faith, with more hope. Even if I make it through this one, there will be many, many more tests, many more waiting periods in my future.
I wish I had rosier words for all of you. I wish I was handling it with poise and grace all the time, instead of retreating to my bed with my book and a fair amount of tears. I'm finding that I really, really miss my Dad, too. He had seven years of tests and waiting for results, and I could really use his strong arms around me, and his wise words to guide me.
But that's not the reality.
So I stretch and grow and cry and learn and breathe and try to keep it in the moment.