A Bit of Time Off

No writings for the last few days. I felt poorly and didn't write; then I felt good and was too busy to write! Oops, I lie. I need to use 'blog' instead of 'write'. I can't keep from writing. Words build in me until they erupt. My journals catch my eruptions. I remind myself to blog.

~~~

I was raised to be cautious about drugs, about any artificial means to health. I was fed greens, taken to the chiropractor as a toddler. Alternative was not a trend; it was our lifestyle. Yet, most of my adult life, I lived disconnected from my body. I lived in my head. My body wasn't for much except providing nourishment and mobility for my mind, my never ending concepts and thoughts. My body gave me four beautiful children, but otherwise, I either ignored my body, took it for granted, or was disgusted with it for weight, weakness, allergies, imperfections.

I'm no longer disgusted or ungrateful. I love my body. I’m comfortable in my body as I am at home in my mind. I regularly listen to my body; it has much wisdom. It's been a long journey, this integration of body, mind, soul, but worth every step taken, both past and future. Of course, I enjoy a good thought, an invigorating read or discussion, but my mind is no longer queen. Funny, I get cancer when I'm so at peace with myself, ironic too that I'm so dependent on doctors and drugs.

Support drugs now outnumber chemo drugs. I take a pill to sleep, a pill to stop thrush, a pill to produce less stomach acid, a pill to poop (okay four pills for that!!), a pill when my stomach blows up with air and an inhaler when my lungs don't. What must chemo be doing to my organs? Chemo melts my tumor, the intestinal blockage, but then causes what it cured. My kitchen counter looks like a pharmacy. I see all the vials and prescription bottles and wonder how I got here. When I’m tempted to ask why me, I immediately ask why not me. So, while I ask questions, I try not to demand answers.

I'm healing from cancer. That’s my truth now. Though I am always open to a miraculous healing, it seems I'm being healed the traditional way, through good doctors, good medicine and good alternative treatments to support that healing. No matter how much I'd like to take control, take credit for, order and organize my healing, I remind myself every day it is not about saying the right prayers, having enough people praying for me, dong the perfect regime, eating the right foods, drinking the right juice, saying the right affirmations, doing the right meditations or visualizations, it is about living freely and loving fully, doing the best I can with what life is presenting me without compulsion or attachments to an outcome. Living well, responding to God, healing the body, mind, soul is always about freedom and love, no matter what life is presenting. It's about being open to learning, being changed, transformed by any experience. Each and every situation teaches whether a pleasant or an unpleasant
situation. Growing and healing is about being open to life, living in the moment without wanting the next moment, or the moment to contain something different.

So what am I learning? How am I changing? I'm learning the value of friends, lots of friends; I’m not as isolated as I thought. I'm learning to love my body more, to marvel at what the human body can handle, heal, celebrate and endure. I'm learning about grace, both the asking for and the receiving. I now know disease is not a reflection of me; it doesn’t define me. I am not cancer, nor am I responsible for getting cancer. God didn’t give me cancer to teach me a lesson. My misconceptions of God continue to drop away. Instead of blaming myself or God, I’m finding joy in naming my desires, asking for help, giving up fear or control, relaxing and leaning into God, waiting and watching the Spirit move. There is joy in weakness, peace in vulnerability, a precious grace in receiving, once I get my compulsions, pride and independence out of the way. I'm experiencing even more of God's tenderness and humor.


Just a few examples of the MANY God moments, friendship, laughter, tenderness:

· Ginger says: just take the laxatives! I worry -what if I get addicted to laxatives? She answers - after chemo you'll get unaddicted. Oh.
· I say: constipation is a shitty way to live. A friend replies -you mean shitless.
· When I'm too tired to walk in the outdoors I love, God brings the sky to me in a classmate's blue eyes.
· I love salad and kale but cabbage juice gags me. Jay hands me a tall glass of freshly juiced green, then drinks his small portion first. I know if he can drink it, I can too.
· A woman comes to me in the hospital in the middle of the night. She says she's an RN but she doesn't take my vitals like the other RN's do when they come in. Instead she tells me that she is praying for me, that bowel reconstruction surgery is much better than it used to be, and if I should need surgery due to a blockage I don't need to be afraid. My eyes fill with tears, mostly because of the glow around her. She holds my hand, then leaves abruptly. Despite knowing all the nurses and their shifts, I never saw her before nor see her again. And later, I realize I never told her or anyone, not even Jay, of my terrible fear and dread of bowel surgery.
· I make a list of jobs I need help with this week. I work to match friends with jobs, but the task exhausts me. I give up, say to God- I can’t organize this, if I send, will you take care of things? I hesitate long before emailing. How do I know if I'm asking too much of people? Rachel volunteers first; I ask her to do the first thing that came to mind, get packages ready to mail/UPS. While she works here, Jay comments - hey, it's good you have a home business and can mail from home without making an extra trip. I smile with God; the power that created the Universe is good at coordinating!
· I play a CD, without thinking I say to God- I’m tired of my CDs. I wish I had the energy to go on Amazon and find something new. A package arrives in the mail that afternoon, with a card from Ellen and a beautiful, inspirational CD. Amazing!


Joyfully,
Sharon