A friend texted the day after Christmas to see how we were. "Highly variable" was the response.
The wind is my least favorite weather condition. What comes to mind is the wind whipping away any warmth you manage to generate on a cold day. This is also describes my state of mind these days.
I'm fine, motoring along through my day and then something - a card in the mail, a lyric, a tenderness, a pain in the breast - and I am hit by a buckle-your-knees stab of grief. Then, I steady myself, sometimes literally, set my jaw and move on.
Christmas was lovely. Jim and I had Christmas covered for the boys. The Kowats made sure Jim and I had a Christmas to celebrate too.
I've talked to Miles, twice. I had to go back and cover it again because he was totally unconcerned the first time. Actually, both times. He wanted to know where I was hurt. I showed him. That's all. I didn't say cancer. I didn't say much. But I said I'm sick and he heard it. I've just spent the summer at home resting with a new baby. I think he will be glad to see more of me and that might be it for now.
What else?
Oh, that how to have cancer book. Here is my advice to those that come after me: throw out books in pastel colors with bouquets of flowers on the cover. A few minutes alone with this handy resource for women with cancer robbed me of a night's sleep.
I met another survivor today. (You know who the other is right?). Our lives and circles overlap. She is two years ahead of me. She was diagnosed with a house full of babies. I am deeply comforted by her experience. I think she is going to be a late-night-phone-a-friend.
And, finally, the wig consultation. It wasn't nearly as awful as expected. It actually might fall on the highlight list if I were to do a review of the day. Now, that is some positively positive thinking.
I do not know if anyone can ever be ready for chemo. But if one can, I am. I mean, there are dozens of things I'd still like to do first, but such is life.
