Since my mind is in sort of a mish mashed state right now, this is going to be a bit of a mish mashed post. Maybe we could even go so far as to call it a mish mashed, miscellaneous post. Or, maybe possibly, even a mish mashed, miscellaneous, Smithellaneous post. Yup. That sounds good to me.
I have quite a few pictures from our vacation that I’ll be posting over the next week or so, but first I wanted to write about one of my goals for last week. That goal was to make it through at least one day (since being diagnosed) without crying.
Can you look at the picture below and try to guess how that goal is coming along? Steve was eating breakfast a couple days ago and I sat down to talk with him a few minutes, feeling all cheery, chipper and chatty. Ten minutes into the conversation, the ol’ emotions welled up and the Kleenex box was, once again, called into use.
This is the not-so-cheery face I wear around occasionally. Other times, though (and I dare say, most of the time), I feel fairly positive.
Even on vacation, even at the beautiful beach, there were somber moments. But I know that’s to be expected.
And speaking of somber moments, Sandy, a cousin of mine recently sent a picture to me I had never seen before.
Right to left, you’ll see my Grandpa and Grandma Clemmerson (Dad’s parents) my Uncle Duane and Aunt Rita (Rita is Dad’s sister and Sandy’s Mom) and my Mom and Dad. (On a non-somber note, you can take one look at my Grandma’s face and know that she was one the zippiest, sauciest, funniest ladies you could ever hope to meet. I miss her!)
The somber note comes with the knowledge that both Grandma Clemmerson and Aunt Rita died of breast cancer.
I’ve always known that they had that disease, but it hit me especially hard after being diagnosed with cancer myself. Even though my prognosis is excellent, I still feel a small, scary shiver at the thought of joining the sisterhood of those who have been diagnosed and didn’t survive—especially when that sisterhood includes women who were (and are) very special to me.
And while I’m on the subject of cancer, several of you have asked if someone would be updating the blog tomorrow. I don’t know when they’ll be able to get to it, but someone will keep you informed as the day progresses.
In fact, tomorrow morning at this very time, I will be in a surgical suite under anesthesia. And the thing that I have been pondering, waiting for, and dreading will be in process. Hard to believe it’s almost here.
Okay. Enough of that!
Now on to more cheery pictures from our vacation.
I was determined to get up early enough one morning to see the sun actually peep over the horizon. And here it is! Peeping! That was so much fun. (Especially since I got to go back to bed, and the sun had to stay up!)
Just before the sun appeared, several large groups of birds flew by—there were thousands of them. Obviously they were on their way to a Very Important Bird Convention.
Here are a few pictures of the lovely house we stayed in.
Steve’s colorful jelly beans.
And here’s a not-so-lovely picture of a “little plant thingie” that was lurking in the vicinity. I’m not exactly sure what this is, but I will let you know that when you step on one, as I did, you will not be a happy camper. Steve gallantly got down on the ground and pulled it from my foot--without the benefit of anesthesia, might I add. And then he held it up so that you could all see the inherent nastiness of the nasty little thingie. Ouch.
After I had survived the trauma of the thingie, we walked over the sand dune behind our house to check on the ocean. Just to make sure it was still there. (It was.)
Steve and I were amazed that as far we could see, there was no sign of anything man made. So cool.
Well, the time has come to pull my thoughts away from lovely beaches and concentrate on a to do list that’s even longer than that stretch of sand you see above.
It’s hard to believe that this is the last day (for a few weeks) that I will feel anything like normal. It’s going to be an adjustment to not be able to run around and be as busy and productive as I love to be.
But . . . I heard something a long time ago that has stuck with me. It said, “In acceptance, there is peace.”
And that is my challenge during this surgery and recovery—to accept it. To be grateful for a medical procedure that can get rid of cancer, to embrace the period of rest and recuperation, and to not get overwhelmed by the aftermath of dealing (physically and emotionally) with a double mastectomy.
I have my work cut out for me in finding acceptance. In finding peace.
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