After much inner turmoil, I have decided not to go back to work while I continue treatment—have finally come to accept that not going back to work is acceptable. That even if I wake up on a Tuesday and feel well enough to go out to lunch, it doesn’t mean I should be working. That instead it means I should be going out to lunch (if that’s what I so desire). That I should be using any reserve energy I have to rest, heal, not-stress about work, spend quality time with my children, spend quality time with myself.
It has taken many drawn out conversations with many strong-willed friends and family members for me to finally feel okay about this. So finally, finally, I am letting up on my guilt. Mostly because I feel now in my core how important it is that I experience this experience. I am meditating and writing and trying to simply be. I know it is a tremendous privilege that I have this option. Once again, I am struck by how lucky I am, how grateful I feel.
I am also struck by my fear. Now that I’ve finished my last of the crappy AC chemo infusions (this past Monday) and am feeling better these last couple of days; and now that I’m getting ready to start the Taxol infusions which I anticipate will be much easier (since all the docs and nurses insist as much), I’m feeling like I’ll need (want) to do something with my time if I don’t go back to work. And what I’m really feeling is that I want to (need to) write. Now or never. No more excuses, no more looking to the future, time to take the plunge.
It feels TERRIFYING. Being a writer has been my dream for… ever? What if, when I finally go for it, I fail? And then (most terrifying of all), I am left without any dream at all?