Sleepy Post From Cycle 5
Something silly:
Applying mascara to four lashes clinging on for dear life on my lower left lash line.
Something scary:
Knowing Meg prior to March 16th, knowing Meg during this vortex of hospital visits and chemo treatments, and not knowing the Meg that will step out, cancer-free, in a matter of months.
Something delightful:
Receiving a holiday card from one of my nurses celebrating her cat’s 10th birthday shows that a friendship has formed.
Something agonizing:
After Cycle 6 recovery, I still have to wait 6-8 weeks for them to pump me with radioactive sugar and run me through a PET scan to confirm that the cancer has, as Elvis did ultimately, left the building.
Something brave:
I schlacked on fake eyelashes last week and read a piece of writing at the Brazos Open Mic. Something this writer hasn’t done in 7 years since leaving San Diego.
Something icky:
They don’t tell you this, but your body odor changes, and now my armpits smell like used dishrags left out to dry overnight. I’ve never felt hotter…but that’s actually because of the hot flashes.
Something deep:
First month without my period. My eggs have gone to sleep. I knew this was coming. And yet, it pulls tears from my eyes, and I wonder how unpacking this through the rest of my womanhood will look and feel.
Something wonderful:
My family, an already close unit, is braiding itself in closer. I enjoy FaceTime phone calls from cousins and unexpected texts from aunts. My community, the one I was lucky enough to be born into, is going through a renaissance. Old shit tossed out of the car to make room for new love on this road to re-get to know each other as adults.
Something helpful:
Color. Infuse it everywhere you can. With each new stay in the hospital, I bring more and more items of comfort and color. Sickness shrivels under the brightness of fake flowers, buttery yellow throw blankets, and pictures of people and things you cherish.
Something unknown:
How will it look, a month from now, when I cut the last hospital bracelet from my wrist and step a toe in the direction of returning to work? I fear flopping. I fear nothing will be waiting for me. I fear I will not be skinny enough to appear sick. I fear.
Something new:
I catch my reflection in the mirror, bald still since the eyebrows have left the party, and wink at myself. Shit, girl, you are surviving cancer, and I think I’m in love with you - you ever-changing kaleidoscope of bright human emotion.
Dear friends, thank you for still reading along! My writing cadence is a bit choppier as I navigate through these final cycles. Most days, in truth, I feel called to be more in the moment than trying to put it to words. The words do come later, and so I always appreciate your patience in the meantime. Kiss someone you love on the forehead and rejoice in a popsicle out in the sun.
With love and a summer time treat,
Nutmeg
