Perspective

Angels come in all forms. I'm surrounded by them every day. Family, friends, coworkers, neighbors, even people I've never met. This time my angel was called Jeannie. Jeannie and I have known each for years. She's always been kind, amazing, strong, inspirational, encouraging, intelligent, hilarious, incredibly fun and became one of my dearest friends very quickly many years ago. Now, during the most difficult time of my life, she scooped me up and flew me down to Neverland (Key West) to rejuvenate in between chemotherapy treatments. She told me that if I needed anything, that she would handle it. If I needed nurse care, special foods, a wheelchair, anything at all. I felt very safe going. Even in my fragile state. I wasn't sure how this would go. I didn't know if I would be strong enough to do this, but I sure as hell was going to try!

Lately I've been pushing myself to try and become a member of society again. I have been rewarded every time, even if I've had to struggle to be there. So I encourage myself to interact with normality. It's funny what becomes normal when your life is upside down. Perspective is a great teacher. If you look at things from a different vantage point, you see things differently. For instance, I would've never thought to enter a tattoo contest at a bar. Much less get up on stage at a bar and strip down to a bikini to show it off. This is definitely not my m.o., but for some reason it felt perfectly normal at the time. I've let go of what "normal behavior" is. And it feels good. For some reason, doing something that I would've never done before felt like it was something that I should do. I always like adventure, but this wasn't that. It was different and I've learned that I like exploring something that makes me laugh. Even if it means doing something unconventional. And I'll be damned if I didn't end up sharing the "best female tattoo" trophy with my bestie who drove down to hang with us for a couple days. An instant reward for putting myself out there. When normal is wondering if you're going to make it through the day without needing a nap, puking, or fainting, who gives a damn about if you enter a tattoo contest. It was fun. It helps me to forget, even if just for a short while, that cancer is pervading my life. So I guess that means laughing at myself while trying something different is so incredibly worth it.

This trip to Neverland was bittersweet and unlike any trip I'd ever had on any other visits

. I couldn't ride a bicycle, I didn't have the energy. I couldn't kayak. I had to take naps. I was very sensitive to the heat and sun. I wasn't able to do everything I love to do there. But there is a battle that goes on constantly between my brain and my body. I am constantly thinking that I can do more than my body will allow. I have a fair amount of good hours. Then there's always a moment when my body says,"No more!" And I faint, or I get sick and lose all the energy I thought I had. This is when the frustration hits and the anger and the tears come. When that dirty bitch, cancer, reminds me it's still at the party. 

I was sick and bedridden for an entire night and day, unable to stand. Every time I tried, I fell down. At one point in the middle of the night during one of my many bathroom, get sick moments, I just laid my head on the cold tile floor and passed out. I must've made my way back to bed at some point since I woke up there. It was bad. One of the worst since I got out of the hospital the second time. Jeannie nursed me back to some semblance of ok, then took me to get IV fluids. That did the trick. There are moments in life that are so difficult that you don't know how to make it through. Then an angel comes along and helps you do it. In a way it was a reminder of what was out of reach, but also what there was to look forward to. Right now I can't have the life I yearn for so desperately. I dream about the simple things I want. Like riding a bicycle or laying out in the sun. I think about being able to walk Jude along the beltline or taking her to the dog park for a few hours so I can run and play with her like we used to. I sit and remember what it was like to live on my own and have my life. It hasn't really been that long, 3 1/2 months, but it feels like a lifetime ago. I know I'll have it back one day. I just need to keep remembering.

I can't help but feel as if I'm letting go of everything I've known as my life and waiting for the new me to emerge. Maybe this crazy thing that's happening has a greater purpose that I haven't figured out yet. There is a strange sense of curiosity and peace that resides within me along with the frustration and pain. Because even with all of the things that I can't do, there are things that I still can. And more. I can still laugh and love, I can appreciate a beautiful sunset, I can act completely ridiculous and share happiness. I can feel the sand in my toes and the saltwater on my skin. I can listen to music, acknowledge it's uniqueness, and feel it in my soul. These things stay stable within me. This life test that I'm enduring feels like I'm evolving and growing. Growth is change, growth can be painful. Maybe this is my time and this is my chrysalis stage. And maybe in some inscrutable way I'll emerge from this beautiful and strange and more me than I've ever been.

"Nothing is permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles."  ~Charlie Chaplin