Practice living in the moment

I was going to start with saying that I don’t feel much like writing. That’s not necessarily true. I feel the need to write, to purge my shit on paper, but I don’t want to appear as if I don’t have my shit together. So I feel vulnerable, different, outcast.

I thought that this blog would be all about me living life after a diagnosis of cancer, a prognosis of too little time, and kicking its ass with chemotherapy and a healthier lifestyle. I thought I would only be writing about all the cool shit I am seeing and doing and being a part of because I have this new lease on life. (That is an interesting phrase, eh? Leases expire. Lives do too.)

I have a scan coming up. Before the last couple of scans, during chemotherapy, I went into this process of vacillating between fear and faith. Here I am again. I am not sure how to describe how it came about, except that it was came unannounced, it was sudden, and it literally filled my entire being with tense, wound-up-tight, gripping fear. From that second, I spent the next however-many days until we saw the doctor for the scan results in complete fear of all the what-ifs that my head could conjure up. I picture conjuring up something as taking some serious effort on the conjurer’s part… my head was working. Working hard to give me heavy, ugly, lonely doom and gloom. My head works… present tense.

I've never done this before!

I have been writing in my journal for years now. Not daily, usually, but when thoughts seem overwhelming or quite often lately because I want to get my fears on paper and out of my head. I don’t necessarily like to take the time to put pen to paper, but I do find it to be therapeutic. Occasionally, I will share my writing with one of my grown children or a trusted friend, but mostly I just use it to help make sense of the thoughts that swirl and cycle and tangle up in my head. Since I was diagnosed with cancer in June of 2017, I have done quite a bit of writing on my fears and my belief in my Higher Power. I have discovered some really beautiful things about my Great Spirit and myself. I’ve been thinking about writing it out more formally so that I could share, but besides my family and some friends, who would I share it with? And if I did share it, would someone to take me away and lock me up? But I listen to other people, and I am not so crazy as my head would have me believe sometimes. I prayed about it, but not too much. When the recurrent/metastasized diagnosis was given in May, 2018, I didn’t want to share ANYTHING with anyone because my body seemed to be absolutely flooded with negative thoughts and fear I could not control. I felt as if the doctor had handed me a death sentence with zero hope. I was given a prognosis that paralyzed me. I was so powerless. And even more hopeless. I laid in bed that night feeling so hopeless. I prayed to the beautiful and all-powerful God of my understanding, “God, I don’t know how I am supposed to fight this without hope, and I have no hope. Please give me some hope.” I woke up the next morning and I could feel, actually FEEL a physical presence of hope within me. I know it wasn’t me conjuring up anything positive. I knew it had to be God.

I was telling a lifelong friend that I was starting a blog, and before he could say, “Oh cool. I think that is a great idea (or something to that effect),” my head was yelling, “No! Don’t tell him! He’ll know you’re an idiot! You have nothing valid to say; nothing to offer anyone.” A few years ago, I learned that I don’t control my thoughts; thoughts come into my head that I am shocked to have going through my noggin. I do not believe everything I think., difficult as that is sometimes.

I don’t think I have some wonderful gift of being a talented writer. And I write well enough that I can relay a message. I was given a second chance at life, and I would be a fool to not take advantage of this opportunity. I have hope where there was none. My prognosis is not positive, AND it is just words. No one gets to tell me how long I get to live. That is not a human decision. I want to share my wonder and crazy and faith and rebelliousness and trials and successes and and and…. I have never done this before, so please bear with me as I try something new and exciting. Oh! and really scary! What kind of crazy person puts their bleep out there online for all to see? I am going to try it!

Why blog?

The purpose of my writing is multiple-fold: to write instead of just think—sorting/organizing/labeling—I need to get it out of my head am onto paper to be aware of it and make some sense of it; to share with others because I know I am not alone in my thinking, and being raw is the only way I have found that works to grow in my spirit and spirituality; and perhaps help another who has been handed life on life’s terms and wants to make some sense out of it but can’t because she/he thinks he/she is the only one who struggles because we all compare our insides to their outsides, and damn! their outsides look so good. I do my best to be authentic and real. And sometimes fear takes over and I ‘fail’ at being me because I’d rather be someone much prettier, funnier, smarter, wittier, better all-around. Welcome to the labyrinth of my mind, body, and spirit. When I write or speak of personal experience, strength and hope, I will use the pronoun I and mean I. I do not mean you. I do not mean we. I am certain that I am not alone in my process, AND I do not know how you see, think, feel. So I just talk about me and hope you can relate in some way, if it’s supposed to happen that way.