The past few weeks have been quite a ride.
I mean, I’ve always been a little (🙄) emotional, but sheesh.
CBD drops were helping, until I was told I needed to stop taking them until after the surgery.
One of my dogs ending up with, well, let’s just call it “some gastrointestinal distress” 😬 hasn’t helped.
My lumpectomy is tomorrow.
*Please know that the above cartoon in no way reflects my feelings about my husband. First of all, we don’t even own a La-Z-Boy.
And I am so grateful for all of the messages of love and support I’ve gotten from so many people. The best of which acknowledge the difficulty of the time I’m going through, and/or include specific offers of assistance.
The thing is, while well-intentioned, and appreciated as such, things like “Cancer picked the wrong woman to mess with!” or “You’ve got this! I know (!!!) you’ll be fine!” don’t really speak the truth; a truth we all know. Because cancer is a test you can’t study for, and there are lots of strong women who have lost their noble battles against it.
You want to feel like
but it actually feels more like
I do accept and treasure it all as encouragement. And it might seem odd, but it’s actually more helpful to acknowledge the randomness and lack of control over all of this. As M said to me last night in a text: Cancer isn’t pink, it sucks.
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