Friday, May 31, 2013

One Year Later: I'll Take the Stairs

There are a few images from this last year that will stay with me for a lifetime.
Others, however, have been miraculously erased, never to be viewed again. I think it’s God’s way of helping us move on. He allows some of the memories, pictures, and feelings of pain to dissipate as we check off each day on the calendar. Others, He has us hold onto, to remember where we were and help us figure out where we’re going.
I can remember almost the exact concrete pavers we were standing on when we left the surgeon’s office after the biopsy, when we stopped, clung to each other, and sobbed.
I remember the heat I felt sitting on the couch, surrounded by family when, on speaker phone, the doctor confirmed our nightmares. I remember watching the boys walk down the stairs for the first time after that phone call, realizing I would never be the same mom again.
I remember sitting in the chemo treatment for the first time, crying, and having the most amazing nurse trying to hold back her tears, too.
I remember looking down at my body after the surgery for the first time, confident in knowing that I did what I had to do, but still feeling the awful emotions of regret, loss, and sadness.
I remember my last chemo treatment and the ringing of the symbolic bell. I remember an entire chemo room clapping and crying for me; me - a stranger to them all, rejoicing in the milestone along with us.
And that’s about all I really can vividly see in my mind’s eye. I have blocked out intermittent doctors’ appointments, the true feeling of nausea, the nights sleeping in a recliner, the metal taste in my mouth, and the exhaustion. I’ve even begun to forget what I looked like bald.
I am truly a different person than I was one year ago today. For some things I have more patience, for others, none. I have more empathy and sympathy. I want to do more things for others, and for myself. I want to work harder than I’ve ever had to work. I want to play harder than I’ve ever played. I don’t want to miss out on the little things, and I certainly want to be a part of the big ones. I want to smile and laugh more and cry less. I want to say yes to opportunities that may not come my way again. I want to try things I’ve never tried. I want to tell people how much I care about them. I want to repay all those that sacrificed for me.  I want to give back. I want to share my story, in hopes that it can help even just one person. I want to share my faith, in hopes that it can save even just one person.
I have a bucket list now. A real one. And I keep adding to it, because I’m going to be around for a long time.
There’s a winding set of stairs that lead to my oncologist’s office. In the center is a beautiful waterfall. But for so much of this last year, I had to take the elevator. I was either too tired, too sick, too nauseous, or too weak to even consider the stairs.  
Until now. I’m strong. Those stairs that were once impossible to climb, exhausting, daunting, and scary, are now just another piece of evidence to show how far I’ve come. They symbolize my strength, my growth, and my journey.
So, from here on out, I’ll take the stairs.


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