Happy birthday to my love, Josh. We went out last night to celebrate, and this morning I woke up with the realization that it was likely my last night out on the town with my hair and my breasts intact. I felt pretty last night, I flirted, I felt confident. And now I think about how the next time I see many of those people, I’ll be in treatment, I’ll be bald, I’ll be who knows how sick. I’ll be the one in the room that people are pitying or feeling uncomfortable around or thinking, “She used to be so….”
Today our family of four spent the day together to celebrate Josh. I wish I could write that it was wonderful. I (all of us) really could have used that, but it was full of bumps. My stomach has been in knots, my mood on the edge the last several days, and I wonder whether I would feel this way regardless—it’s all very familiar, after all: the free-floating anxiety, the impatience, the edginess. But it’s hard not to wonder with every turbulence whether things would feel different had I not been diagnosed with breast cancer fewer than 3 weeks ago.
It breaks my heart to be edgy and impatient with the kids right now. Breaks my heart that today, our first family day with just the four of us in literally weeks—and probably one of our last for a good while (so many cancer-supporters cycling through our home these days)—was not blissful. I feel like I should be savoring life more than ever, not getting caught up in the pettiness. And yet… life and being human does go on, breast cancer or no breast cancer.