I’ve been thinking about this blog post a lot today. Many of you have commented about my positive attitude and how I’m almost making them feel bad about the times that they feel stressed or worn down about something (and I don’t mean this at all as a criticism to those who think I’m speaking of them!) I just thought that I should explain that I am perfectly human and have had to struggle with many low moments during this process. Part of the reason that I think I am so positive and forward-thinking since my diagnosis is that I had to wait so long to find out what was wrong with me to begin with. Since at least January, I knew that something was “off” about me – maybe I felt too tired or my skin looked funny after doing a certain exercise or I just seemed a little more winded than usual. But after several doctors and several tests, everyone just kept saying it was stress. That’s a hard thing to handle in and of itself. You know that something is wrong with your body and now everyone is telling you that your thoughts and your reaction to the things around you are ultimately the cause. It meant that if I was the cause I should also be the solution. But then why couldn’t I make it go away? And as you can imagine, that mindset lead to more stress.

Since my mother passed away two years ago while I was pregnant with Kieran, I have suppressed many things in my life. As long as I didn’t stress about my mother’s passing, the baby would be okay. When Brian lost his job, as long as I supported him and kept a smile, we would all be fine. And there were many other challenges that I had to face – some that I confronted, others that I chose to deal with in “my way” which in retrospect just filled my body with more stress. In reading about the idea of using visualization for healing, they often talk about the concept of the power of attraction. What this means is that the thoughts we fill our mind with are what we ultimately bring into our life. This is a wonderful thing to use when we are trying to achieve positive goals, but when you are diagnosed with cancer and know that you have feared getting sick because your mother got cancer and suppressed years of stress over not truly admitting things you may not have been unhappy about in your life, that becomes an enormous burden to bear. It is hard enough to be told you have cancer, but then you wonder why. Why me? Did I somehow bring this upon myself?

I know I didn’t give myself cancer but I also know that although I have lived a physically healthy life – running, yoga, meditation, organic foods, no smoking or drinking or drugs – mentally, I have not lived with the clarity of thought and purpose that I would consider healthy. When I was given my diagnosis, all of that disappeared and there was no longer doubt about my purpose. My purpose is to be here as a mother to my two beautiful children, a wife, a daughter, a friend, a cousin, a niece, a sister. The day of my diagnosis, my mind went 100% into what my nurse dubbed “warrior mode.” There is no option for failure, there is no time to waste wondering why me, there is no point in looking back. The ONLY thing that matters is that I MUST overcome this and I WILL.

There have only been two moments since I came to the hospital that I cried. The first was the day I was admitted. I had envisioned my experience for days before I got here. To begin with, the doctors had described a beautiful, new, private room. When we got here they informed us that the new wing wouldn’t open for a week. I was taken to an old sterile room for two that looked out onto two worn brick walls. The nurse began describing all of the negative effects that chemo could have on my heart – things I hadn’t thought about – and the tears just welled up from the pit of my stomach. Brian was going to leave and I would be a prisoner in this asylum while drugs were pumped through my veins that could ultimately kill me. It was surreal to feel and look so healthy and now be faced with what seemed the gates of hell. Why was this happening to me? That day it was hard to stop the tears but I knew I had to. I knew I had to focus on going home.

The second day I cried was yesterday. I was finally free of the chemo machine and I got up to enjoy a shower and wash my hair. I was also free to dry my hair. I savored it – the way my hair went through the brush, the strokes of color my wonderful hairdresser had worked years to perfect, the way it fell just the way I wanted it to and how happy I felt about myself as a result of the way my hair looked. Thinking about it all falling off in just a matter of days started the tears. The thoughts then went to my friends and their hair and their summer vacations and their time with their kids. It all seemed so unfair. Why me? What did I do to deserve this?

I told myself, “pull it together, you are a fighter not a crier, you know what you have to do.” But it was hard. The doctors came in shortly after and saw my watery eyes. I said I was just having a moment and the first thing my big, tough leukemia doctor did was smile and say, “did you do your laps yet today?” They reassured me that I am doing everything right and my body is doing everything right, we are going strong. I went for my walk after that.

I have had some scary moments in the last 48 hours including an allergic reaction to IV Benedryl and my body rejected the platelets transfused into me this morning leaving me with bone shaking chills and a fever of 102.7. It hasn’t  shaken my confidence but has given me a bit more anxiety. My blood counts are so low right now that I could spontaneously bleed internally and every orifice of my body is susceptible to infection. Every time they stick me for blood or infuse the antibiotics I have been getting for days, I get anxious now. The logic of it is scary, but to me it is part of a journey to getting home. Through every anxious moment, I take deep, meditative breaths and envision running through Disneyworld with my kids. Knowing I will get there, the fear of the moment seems so much less scary.

When I used to bike, I loved to go uphill because I loved the challenge of burning my muscles to get to the top; the harder the climb, the greater the rush of reaching the peak and feeling the wind embrace my body on the way down. This is my hill and, as I told Brian, I don’t care how many flat tires or broken chains it takes, I will reach the top and the rest of my life will embrace me on the other side.

Okay, deep breaths everyone! Before I go I must thank Heather for a great visit tonight and for bringing me the beautiful photograph you will see below. On the last day of school, all of the children and teachers at Ty’s school wore white shirts and sat in the shape of heart to send love and good wishes to me. There are no words to express what this image means to me. To all of you who were part of that, thank you, thank you, thank you for yet another unbelievable gift.