Name and Date of Birth...

Over and over. All of us. We all patiently speak it gently to the kind nurses tending to us. There’s an atmosphere of kindness that seeps through the walls of this place. It’s in every corner, from the time you walk through the doors. I don’t know how they do it, but it allows me to nestle into their care and relax, somewhat. As relaxed as I can get under the circumstances.

When I stop to think, I wonder how in the world this has happened to me. But, then, right after that thought flits through my mind, I know millions of people have the same thought, every single day. There’s really no questions anymore. No rationale. It just is. Cancer. Now let’s deal with it.

I just got done with a bag of antibodies meant to teach my body to fight my specific cancer. They have to watch me for an hour to see if my body will reject it. I am willing my body to do just that- Fight, but I have little control. I admit, sometimes I feel nervous. Come on body, fight! My body has always been so good to me. Sure, it’s not perfect. It’s given me some issues through the years, but I’ve pressed it into doing everything I’ve wanted to do. I honestly have no doubt that it will see me through this, as well.

I am a warrior. So is the woman across from me. She’s laying still, seemingly at peace, but her hands and clenched in her lap. Warrior. No doubt about that. And these doctors and nurses watching people tire, feel like crap, but still fight. We smile. We joke. We are kind and they are kind. We trust. I think that’s one of the biggest things. Trust. My cancer journey, already, has been an act of trust. An act of complete faith. I didn’t shop around. I didn’t call anyone else. I’m trusting these people. But, honestly, the one that can save my life on this earth is only God. He’s got complete control of this one.

Mary cut my hair off last night. I think we used a 4 on the clippers. She’s going to donate my hair, and that makes me happy. I’d like to be able to help others. I had a good cry after she left. Just needed to mourn the loss of one more part of my life. Crying doesn’t mean not sucking it up. I think it’s totally necessary.

Belinda and I spoke about Cody the other day. Cody was an amazing soul. He had cancer for some time, but I never saw the light go out of his eyes. I cannot imagine his pain and discomfort. His attitude was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. Belinda told me what he wanted more than anything was to help others through their journey. Well, he’s already accomplished that. He’s helped me. I think of him every single day. Of the light around him. Of the kindness of his soul. Thank you, Cody, for helping me through this.

I cannot begin to even wade through the emotions I have for the people that have reached out to help me. Thank you seems so shallow. So empty. I’ve never been the one people have talked about on Facebook. Who people have donated money to. Bought shirts for. Never. It’s humbling for me. And, I thank you all so very much. I admit, I need help. I can’t do this without y’all. The coronavirus knocked me for a loop, but cancer was a bigger loop. Thank you all so very much. I’m going to try to start writing thank you notes this week, but I fear I won’t ever be able to find each of you to thank. I will say this – when I am done with this, I will pay all of this forward. I’ll know just how to help people from now on. This has already taught me so many lessons, and for that, I am truly thankful. Thank you all so very much.