Let's get real for a moment.

Lest any of you harbor the wrong impression, I am not Wonder Woman, soaring through this cancer experience with feathers unruffled. (Hmmm...who knew Wonder Woman had feathers? I guess now we know.)

For example (to pick just one): Yesterday morning was a rocky patch. For the second day in a row, I suffered intestinal symptoms of stress.  At the same time, I was aware of a heavy lump of dread in my belly.  Keeping my exercise appointment with my trainer helped, but when at the end she asked if she could pray with me, the tears were right there. (It was our last session until whenever the doctor okays exercise again after surgery.)

I realized while driving home that I had been neglecting my tiny angels meditation, so that's what I did when I got home, even though I was on a tight timeline to get to my wig fitting appointment. It helped a lot, and the lump in the belly dissipated.

The wig fitting was a pleasant distraction, and I was fine, much lighter in spirit, for the rest of the afternoon and evening. (You'll have to wait for pictures; the wig I chose had to be ordered in the right color.) But I am taking to heart the lesson: don't neglect the self-care disciplines.

Another self-care essential is contact with friends, in person, via phone or text or email, through this blog. Last night the Corazon group met, a monthly faith-sharing gathering of folks who know each other from our St. Agnes days.  These are people I have known for 40 to 45 years. I'm the baby of the group at age 71, which means we are all dealing with a variety of challenges. Several of us are living with serious diagnoses.  At least two besides me are cancer survivors.  We have a goodly share of hearing aids, implanted prostheses, and other bionic components. But we also share a long history together, and a willingness to be real, to be vulnerable, and to go deep with each other.  That, my friends, is priceless.

Another coping strategy I have been consciously employing lately is buying stuff. No, I don't mean garden-variety "shopping therapy." What I've been doing is going over my notes and the handouts I've received from various sources and buying the supplies that are likely to be needed and/or helpful during the chemo phase.

So I now have a stash of things like lemon drops (said to be helpful for nausea), Lysol wipes (for phones, remotes, and doorknobs if my white cell counts drop and I become immune compromised), meal replacement drinks (for sipping throughout the day, again if nausea is an issue), plastic cutlery (if metallic taste caused by chemo interferes with appetite), and other such stuff.  Partly this is practical: do the shopping while I still have full energy, before surgery and chemo sap it.  But significantly, it's a way of allowing the realities of the journey ahead to sink into me step by step--like cutting my hair short ahead of time.  It helps to break down the looming monster threat into a series of individual components that can be prepared for.

Writing this blog is a a significant self-care strategy as well.  I hope some of you find it interesting and of value to you.  I can assure you, it is of great value to me.  Writing it allows me to tap into and experience my own creativity flowing, a natural high and an in-the-flesh reminder that I am more than this cancer.  And as I write it, I am aware of all of you out there who care about me, who are supporting me, praying for me, carrying me in your thoughts.  Spending time with that awareness is a healing and strengthening thing in its own right.

Even better is when some of you respond to my posts, whether by email or by posting a comment (even if it's only a word or two).  I feel the connection when I'm composing the posts, because I am carrying you in my awareness as I do so, but the responses take it up a notch--a big notch, actually.  Then I have a concrete, tangible experience of connection.  My posts become a dialogue, and not just a monologue dropped into the void of cyberspace. The lagniappe, as they say in New Orleans, is that your responses arrive spread out over time, so I get a whole series of "touches" from my support network. Lovely!

A propos of nothing in particular: 

My sunflower jungle in the back yard.  It makes me smile.

Upcoming schedule: Pre-op testing tomorrow morning early. Surgery Monday @ 8:30 am. Results will be posted as soon as possible. Full pathology report with details re stage of cancer will take about a week after the surgery.