Ding Ding, Round Two

I think I'm starting to get a handle on things, mentally and physically.  Before, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to anything.  It was one horrifying experience or thought after another, with very little relief.  Getting diagnosed the way I did threw everything into tumult.  Suddenly I was a patient again, on chemo again, and that took a backseat to the morbidity that ensued.  And then time, which has its way of healing any tortured soul, moves on and life begins to make sense again in its new way.

Now I know that if I drink 40 ounces of water during the first hour I'm awake, I won't be nauseous.  I need to sleep most of the day on Friday.  On Thursday food doesn't taste good, but I can run errands.  It's not much, but it provides a system of planning for me.  In yoga I've learned that I can make my breathing the center of my attention, and there's no space left for any other thought.  I don't cry nearly so much anymore.  I don't have any more answers, but I'm starting to accept that I'll do the best I can with the time I have left, and that's really all I can do.  Strangely, despite my new lifestyle, which includes a lovely port protruding from my chest, life isn't really all that different day to day.  I still shower and dress and spend time with my kids.  I drive my car, go to the market, cross items off my to-do list.  We still laugh during family dinners and the kids still fight or get along.  I have to get school supplies and fill out the band camp forms and make sure Jonah has bus snacks.  This is still my life, mundane and comforting. 

I'm not a ghost.  When I sign my name and write the date, it's not the last signature, nor the last date.  I'm here, and it's good to be here.