Last Sunday night, the night before my triple biopsy, I had a dream that seemed meaningful at the time and perhaps even more so now that I’ve been diagnosed with cancer. I don’t remember the details; I remember the heart of the matter. Which is that I had my period (to which I didn’t give any thought at first), and I DSC04977was also quite pregnant—6 to 8 months so.

I was looking at myself in the mirror, noticeably pregnant, with a definite belly. But as I looked at myself, I thought about how my belly was smaller than I would expect on someone as pregnant as I was. I think I felt good about this at first—good that I wasn’t gaining tons of weight.

But then I registered the fact that I had my period and the mood shifted. I realized that I shouldn’t have my period if I were pregnant, what a bad sign that was! And the fear flooded in. Something was wrong. I don’t remember what happened next except that I knew then that I was having a miscarriage, that Josh and I would not be having another baby, and I was terribly, terribly sad. Graspingly sad. Wanting things to be different, desperately wanting to have this baby that I was losing.

(It feels important to share that Josh and I decided a couple of years ago that we do not want to have more children. So the suffering I felt in my dream is not about losing the chance of a child. I assume it instead has everything to do with a cancer diagnosis.)

I don’t want what I can handle

One week ago today I got the news. Breast cancer. Josh and my folks and I meet with the oncologist today (after I get an MRI), and I wonder whether the information we gather will impact my mood. I keep saying (and feeling) that I feel strangely okay—and have since Saturday. Like I’ve settled into this new reality with a Zen-like acceptance that, I admit, leaves me feeling impressed with my “spiritual evolution.” Though I do also feel myself lingering in the sidelines, watching, waiting for some other emotional state to hit—wondering whether this is all some state of shock that will lift and leave me fetal. But I don’t feel in shock. I feel like I am putting one foot in front of the next, receiving what comes. Marsha, the closest thing I have to a therapist, often tells me that there can be sorrow without suffering—that suffering comes from resisting what is. Somehow I am not resisting and not suffering.

The other day a friend said what my mother has often said: that we only get what we can handle. (And that what we get makes us stronger.) I find more fear than comfort in that statement because more and more, I feel like I can handle…. Well, more and more. (Not physical torture. Please not the loss of my children nor Josh.) I feel like I can handle much more than I want to handle. I almost feel like IIMG_3165 could handle the worst in this situation, but fuck fuck fuck I don’t want to leave my children without a mother, I don’t want to miss their growing up, I don’t want to leave Josh to do this life and this parenting without me, I don’t want to rip apart this incredible, happy life we all enjoy together.

But could I handle it? The way I feel these last several days, I think so. And that both gives me great strength and tremendous fear. I don’t want to get what I can handle.

Launching my very first blog

Like my Swiss grandmother, I like order. Clutter: hate it. Legos strewn across the house: tough. The thought of starting this blog somewhere in the middle of my breast cancer experience: can’t do it. So even though I am officially launching my blog in March of 2015, I am doing so with posts that I first drafted as journal entries starting back in October 2014, just after my breast cancer diagnosis. (I’ve cheated and changed the post dates to reflect the composition date, so it looks as if I started this blog on October 29.)