I never, ever thought I would get cancer. Not in a million years. But if I did, in my dreams I would be cool and dignified, tragically elegant, wan and heartbreakingly beautiful, facing my fate with courage and decorum.
Snort. So much for dreams.
In
reality, I am a blubbing, hysterical, terrified blob of a mess. Instead of tissues, I have a roll of paper
towels at my bedside to sop up my endless weeping. The cancer diagnosis is bad enough, but the
complications related to MS have me in a panic, mostly because my physicians
are in a panic. Panicky physicians do
not inspire a tremendous amount of confidence.
Right
now, though, the hardest challenge of all involves my children, who I adore
beyond my own life. For a variety of reasons, some logistical,
some personal, at this point in time they cannot be together with me through
this. Of course, we always want what we
can’t have and all I want is them. ALL. I. WANT.
IS.
THEM. My oldest daughter is doing
what she can, but, in typical perverse fashion, the situation is too much for
her and she alone is not enough for me.
We need to be together as a family. Their being here would give me the confidence
and assurance I need right now. My
courage, my strength, my reason for being, it all comes from them. I want them here with me, I want to hold
their precious hands. I want their
presence, I just want to look at them. I
simply want them.
But even
typing those words feels like the most churlish dismissal of what I DO have,
which is the most incredible network of support from friends and even people I
don’t know. My friends are the ones who
drive me to appointments, listen to me cry, who show up at my back door with
frozen drink treats, who tell me everything is going to be all right. They are the ones who are storming heaven,
sending me cards, calling me to tell me they love me. I do count some family in there, especially
my beloved cousin Steve, whose unconditional love has been a constant for my
entire life. But for the most part it is friends, acquaintances, friends of friends,
virtual friends from our blogs, these are the people who are here for me every
minute of the day, radiating caring and hope.
Their
campaign of love and optimism is irresistible and I am joining in. I have never felt worthy before of asking for
healing. But I have been utterly
inspired by the confidence that is enveloping me. I am praying that the cancer has not spread,
that the surgery will successfully remove it all, that my care givers will be
skilled enough to get me safely through the surgery without needing a vent.
In
January 2004 I teasingly said to my kids “I am turning 50 in September. I better be getting a pretty darn big party!” And I did!
My sister and the four of them gave me a wonderful, fun surprise party. My
oldest son delivered a touching toast, stating his pride and love for me. I was surrounded that day by love and
laughter and joy. It is inexplicable to
me that things have gone so terribly wrong. While I am praying for a good outcome and
future, more than anything I am praying for my children, that they may also be
healed and strengthened and that we can come together as a family once
again.
I listen
to meditations written by Belleruth Naparstek, a renowned psychotherapist who
was a groundbreaker in the field of guided imagery. I am focusing on two affirmations in particular
to get me through this:
I can feel
around me a protective cushion of energy containing all the kindness, good wishes,
prayers, gentle smiles, and sweet gestures that have ever been sent my way.
And…
I know
that I am held in the hands of God and I am perfectly, utterly safe.
And so I am.
Did you like what you read? Let others know. Thanks!
