I titled this post and left it blank over a week ago.  I owe you guys an update – plus, I like to write — but I just don’t know what to say.  I feel like I’ve been chewed up and spit out.

During treatment, I had all kinds of little moments to myself.  They may have been when I was lying in bed hugging a pillow or when I was doing the business that chemo makes you do in the lady john, but I was alone much more often than before.  It was usually at the expense of my husband’s sanity or my mother-in-law’s free time, and I often didn’t feel very good.  But in these moments, I thought.  And I thought.  And thought some more.  A brush with death will do that to a person, and facing my mortality has been difficult and wonderful.

Now that the bulk of my treatment is complete, I am back to professional momming, i.e. slinging milk and goldfish, wiping butts and faces (not in that order), doing preschool drop-off and making play dates.  I don’t know if I was just so excited to get back to my life or if I just opened my eyes and saw what a mess my kids and house were…or even if my kids sensed that mom was back, but I jumped right back in.  And now I am exhausted, and my head if so FULL of kids and cleaning and stupid worries.  I got mad at Josh for putting a dish in the sink.  (Seriously, though, the kitchen was clean; the sink was empty.  How much harder is it to put the bowl in the dishwasher rather than the sink?  But no, you put it in the sink so I can put it in the dishwasher.  Gah.)  So yeah, things are back to normal.

It’s just that six months ago, or two months ago, that bowl wouldn’t have been a blip on my radar.  Because who cares about a bowl?  I kind of miss the days (of, like a month ago) when I had time to think.

I’m trying to find the balance between getting on with my life and changing the things that I want to change.  It’s really hard to do when I have these amazing little people who need, want, DEMAND so much of me and my time.  I suspect that even without kids, it’s a hard balance to strike.

Truthfully, I don’t know where I stand sometimes.  I really am still processing what just happened.  I only found that lump in my breast less than seven months ago, and here I am bald, boobless, anemic, and aware of so very much more.  And even though I suppose I don’t have cancer anymore and I’m trying to “move on,” it’s always in my face.

At the grocery store:  “Ma’am, do you want help out?”

Who?  Me?  Oh, right.  I’m bald and frail. 

And I start to feel a little offended.

No one ever offered to help me out before!  Not even when I was juggling a crying infant and a petulant preschooler.  Do I really look that bad?

“No, thanks,” I say and walk out.

Crap!  That might be the last time they ask me that for, like, 30 or 40 years.  I should have told him yes!  I should take advantage of this.  He doesn’t know that I don’t have cancer anymore.  Next time, for sure.

I don’t know.  I’m pretty unsure of where to land except for exactly where I was before (because it’s habit and easy), and I don’t want that.  It’s not that it was a bad place.  I just know better now.  I just don’t know where to step.

2 comments on “Processing.”

  1. When you eventually decide to write a series of hilarious short stories based on your experience, I’ll add mine to the mix, and we’ll send them to Jud Apatow to make into a must-see screenplay…… I’m not joking. 🙂

    • I love this idea. There are a few things that were a little too PG13 to blog about that would make good comedy…like the time my husband felt me up (err, my foobs), and I had no idea. Bahaha. I hope my dad doesn’t read the comments, but I’m sure he does. 😉 And I’d love to hear some of your funny cancer moments.

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