It wasn’t that big of a deal. I had tripped and fell on it, and my hip was a little sore, maybe bruised, maybe arthritis. I had been diagnosed with breast cancer 2 years before and it seemed to be under control.
My friend Maryland Shirts, after a lunch date, offered to take me to check out the cancer center. “That’s okay, I can call and get the information I need.” I said.
“I know,” she said, “but sometimes its better just to go in person.”
I think Maryland hears voices of angels, because I am sure they were all shouting as loud as their angel rules would allow them to, “Take her to the cancer center right away!”
At the end of a very pleasant and informative meeting, the nurse at the center said ‘You should get that hip joint checked out, If you don’t have insurance, the hospital will cover it, until you do.’
I can just picture the angels standing on their cloud (or whatever they stand on) with their hands cupped to their mouth shouting in their angel way, “Tell her to go right away!’
She did, and I did.
I’m very grateful for friends that hear the voice of my guardian angels when I don’t.
If all goes according to plan, tomorrow will be the worst cancer day in my life for a long time. After tomorrow I will have some help fighting this battle and every day starting the day after tomorrow, should be less cancer and more dead cancer cells. Hold onto your hat, chemo is just around the corner..
I’ve really enjoyed gardening, and have tried to stay organic. One spring, I bought some ladybugs for the garden. The directions suggested letting them loose at night, but I just couldn’t wait so I took the lid off of the the pint-sized carton and released half the population out into the garden.
When I tried to put the lid back on, so I could release the rest of them that night, I ran into a problem. The little ladies kept climbing up and out the container and I didn’t want to squish any of them, so I put the open carton, which was similar to a small-sized ice cream container, into the Jimmy Johns’ paper sac which had a big “EAT” on it. I folded over the flaps and secured it with 2 close pins. I left the bag on the counter so I would remember to take the rest of them out that night.
That evening, not only were there no clothes pins on the bag, there were hundreds of ladybugs crawling down the bag, and spreading themselves across my kitchen counter like an army of spilled syrup.
Eric, thinking I had left him a treat, had opened the bag, but when he tried to re-close the bag he ran into the same problem I did and he didn’t want to kill any ladybugs either.
Most of the ladybugs that I wasn’t able to recover found their way to our houseplants and eventually to the garden when I put the houseplants outside for the summer.
Feeling very grateful for pain relief. Had a little trouble focusing when I tried to add another chapter in one of my books. I couldn’t keep my thoughts in one place.
When I want to use my brain, I may need to schedule that. That’s a good idea I probably should have been doing that all along.
Photo by Anne Carlson
I’ve started wearing a knitted hat with my hair tucked in it so I can get used to what it will be like to have no hair. It reminds me of what was referred to as a training bra, for those of us as young women who wanted to wear a bra, but didn’t really need one. So I suppose I could say this week I’m wearing training hats.
It’s likely to start shedding mid Feb, 2 weeks from day 1. My daughter wants me to wait to see if I might be one of the rare ones that don’t lose the hair. “Okay,” I conceded. “I’ll wait and see what happens.” Perhaps she needs a little more time.
So many questions. Today I feel like I am getting ready to drive into a tunnel and not being sure what I will find on the other side.
Will it work? How much will it work? When will I know? So much is individual. “Everyone is different,” they tell me.
When asked to trust God with my life, I hesitated even though I wanted to.
I stood at that door of faith, looking in and hesitated.
This week, it felt like somebody picked me up and carried me through that door.
I’m now in a place where I must have help in order to function appropriately. I’m having to rewire the way I think about myself.
What is it going to be like to look in the mirror and see a face with no hair? What’s it going be like to look strange, to be identified publicly as “the woman with cancer.”
“It’s not what is on the outside that counts, it’s what is on the inside.” My mother always told me. Good advice, Mom, I’m working on that.