dar334

We are back at the cancer center in Owosso, hoping to take care of the five new (minimal) spots of cancer in Jim’s torso.  No organs seem to be affected, praise God.  It was just a year ago we spent the majority of our summer here; the girls that work here had to do a double take to recognize him.  Jan and Michelle are still here but I don’t see Kim.  I hope Kim is happily retired, cruising around the world with the love of her life, although I don’t really care to hear about it.  (I can visualize Sandy saying “That was suppose to us.”)  There is a new girl here for us to get used to.

Being here makes it all too real, today it made everything all too real.  We started our day with breakfast at Showboat where we had to explain to two different people what we were up to.  In both cases we got ‘the look’.  We’ve all given ‘the look’ at various times in our lives, and some of us have a better understanding than others of how ‘the look’ affects you when you are on the receiving end.  I don’t mean to offend anyone, we find great comfort in the kindness it emits.  But sometimes it will knock you even farther down then you already are.  I’ve found myself  just sending an emoji of two hands holding each other, or a simple single red rose to someone instead of sending words that require conversation.  Conversation gets harder the more you have to do it.  Just a simple little emoji lets the receiver know someone cares.  I sent Abby a lot of emoji, sometimes she responded with conversation, sometimes she just replied with an emoji of her own.  I find comfort in knowing she knew I cared.

We arrived at the cancer center a little early so we made ourselves as comfortable as possible in the waiting area while Jim’s paperwork was processed.  I decided to make a trip back out to my car for hand lotion; I knew I would want some before the afternoon was over.  Heading to my car, I passed behind a handicap accessible van parked close to the building.  On the back window were 3 little orange decals.  A ribbon, a wheelchair, a little girl.  Orange.  Chesaning Indian orange.  Only in this case it wasn’t an Indian’s van.  (Note to Tonya:  Did you think of Indian’s Café just then?)  I took a deep enough breath to fill my lungs with air so my heart couldn’t drop to the concrete below my feet and I choked back a couple tears.  Reality.  My reality.

I’m finding it difficult to scroll through Facebook these days.  Seems everyone is sharing posts about their hatred of cancer.  We all hate it.  It has touched all of our lives one way or another.  I’m grateful for those who take time to send up prayers, we are definitely being comforted by them. My avoiding it is selfish I guess, but for the very few minutes each day that I forget about it, it comes rushing back as soon as I open Facebook.  If it isn’t a cancer share, it’s an advertisement for a cute little tank top that tells the reader you can’t see MS, but the person wearing the tank top is suffering.  Or someone wants me to buy a MS iPhone case.  (I did fall for the breast cancer awareness shoes though)

I guess I want everyone to know that sometimes I may not reply to your latest post, only because I didn’t see it, not that I don’t care.  And to be brutally honest …. never mind.  And sometimes I may not answer the ringing phone, because I just don’t want to talk.  And sometimes I’m going to ignore the notification sounds that come when I receive messages, texts, or emails, because I just can’t talk about it at that time.  And sometimes I may not share every result, doctor visit, or planned treatment, because it’s just too difficult.  Sometimes I feel all alone, sometimes I just want to be all alone.  Some of you out there will understand, some more than others.

Always pondering,

dar