wanna

I had a little tantrum yesterday. As in, I don’t wanna do this again. I can and I will and I am, but I really really don’t wanna. It’s those fucking bald spots that did it.  And I know I am so much more than my hair, and I know I am blessed to not be terminal, and I’m doing this to ensure I am not terminal anytime soon, but allow me this rant. Rocking the no hair look, and I mean no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, no pubes, yay me, should be a once in a lifetime achievement. Dammit. I know you can all see through the smile, it’s kind of hard to hide the vulnerabilty in my eyes or the tears that well up when I least expect it. And I am brave and I will do what I need to do, so please believe that what I say and what you see is true, but bloody hell, I don’t wanna. It’s cool to be unique, to be different and yes to be the one percent. Apparently that is what I am. A one percenter. The likelihood of cancer recurring after a mastectomy and chemo is one percent. Seriously. Serves me right for always wanting to stand out.

So. Think I’m feeling the trepidation of knowing what’s coming. Welcoming it in a weird way because it’s still my best shot. But this thursday I willingly poison myself again. Time to shave me thinks.

life

The weirdest thing, well one of the weird things about this little detour is that I felt fabulous. That’s the odd thing often about this cancer thing. If it’s caught early enough there are no symptoms. No visible, palpable, anythings. Now I feel like a sick person. Not only because I have been cut, pricked, prodded, put under too many times, scanned, ummed and ahhhed over. But because I keep getting asked if I’m ok, because I look grey. Funny how when someone asks you that, you instantly feel grey. Feel sick. Feel like a cancer patient. It’s kinda what I meant with that pink rant too. If you are surrounded by sadness you become sad. Well not today. Today it’s friday. And I’m going to lunch. To celebrate life and vigilance. Hopefully my red lips hide the grey.

a deadline

My 365 or 366 gratefuls came to an end on 15 January. Clearly I am playing catch up, or avoidance. In my defence being away from any form of reliable connectivity is the real reason. I think. Actually it has been a blessing and a curse. A blessing as it’s given me time to consider what now, and a curse because now I’m behind. And I never miss a deadline. But I’m starting to understand there is no deadline. And imperfection is exquisite. And as a dear friend of mine wrote so very recently, beginning takes courage, but continuing takes commitment and determination. And courage too. At this point I’m doing neither, but loving that in life there truly is no deadline. So, what will be will be, what will emerge will emerge. Right now, I’m relishing sharing my last days of chronicled gratitude and the change I feel within me. As subtle as it may be.

three hundred and thirty one

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11 December. I am grateful today is nearly over. And for the most beautiful  flowers thoughtfully chosen especially for me from those I love. Both near and far. They and the sight of my gorgeous daughters, their cousins, my sister and B made the day more than bearable. You guys, all of you, really do complete me.

two hundred and ninety six

 

6 November. I admit today I am grateful for Sara Blakely and her Spanx. Or any version thereof. It meant I could wear the clingy what the hell was I thinking dress I’ve had in my wardrobe with the tags still on for almost a year. Vanity ruled the day I am sad but not too shy to admit.