Some things about my near brush with cancer I wish I could keep with me forever. I know I am changed, but it's astonishing how quickly life bounces back to its former colors. Anno just wrote a beautiful, succinct post that reminded me how clear certain pieces of my life became when I was awaiting my biopsy results.
When I first was told I needed a biopsy, I was overwhelmed. My thoughts ranged from gory to gorier, and at that moment I could almost understand why some people choose to run away from knowing the truth. I imagined myself needing surgery. I imagined myself needing chemotherapy. I imagined myself dying eventually. I didn't sleep and didn't think straight. I couldn't write. I could only be with my children and grab whatever hugs I could as they become young men.
And then something changed. The smell of my children's hair and their freshly folded laundry reminded me of my role in this life. And I decided I would fight. I decided I would fight no matter what it took, and that I didn't want to die. I decided I would face it down and live to tell about it. That was the most empowering moment I can remember in a long time. It compares only to the moment that I pushed my ten pound babies out into the world. It was the moment of crystal clarity.
So now that I know I don't need to fight that battle today, I walk around in the daily doings of life a little starstruck and off kilter. So much really doesn't matter to me. So much matters more, and I am even more impatient than I was before, one of my greatest faults. My clarity is unsettling and uncomfortable at times, for others and for me. It is a gift and a curse. It is slipping away and leaving me changed forever.
It scares me what I might do.