Fall cleaning

At an Advent planning retreat this weekend, a colleague asked how often I think about my diagnosis. The answer would be, "not at all anymore" if I would stop throwing up in the mornings or could get the pain to stop reminding me. But since I don't see an end to either of those things anytime soon and since I'm ready to move on, I decided to put my cancer resources away. Which means I got to go through all the cards that were prominently displayed before I packed them away. Great irreverant ones, inspirational ones, funny ones, beautiful ones. Some senders dared to write a few words of encouragement, others dared just to send a signed card, knowing there are few words to say. My church is in the middle of its stewardship campaign. The theme is Dare to Dive In. I thank all those who dared to dive into this journey with me.

I also re-read a packet of writings from my friend regarding her treatment and re-discovered that she too had trouble understanding herself in remission since our bodies are so changed and the 5 years of Tamoxifen prolongs treatment and side effects.

The research, diet, and treatment books have been staring at me from the shelf beside my bed for eight months. Most will now go to the church to start a new breast cancer section. We've had two women diagnosed since me. That way they'll be there for others, and possibly me if there's recurrence. My two 3-inch binders with my medical history got put in the back corner of a shelf in the other room where they are no longer visible.

I cleared two shelves. They--as well as me--are now cancer-free. Then I cleaned out the litter boxes. Life goes on.