A different kind of Fall

**** I started this blog last evening

Fall has always been my very favorite time of year. Being a girl who adores football and the changing of the seasons, crunchy leaves I have always thought are the best. Watching this fall from the inside of a house takes on a whole new view. Fall also means the coming of my birthday. I always felt that my birthday (November 17) was perfect timing. Typically, should the calendar fall appropriately, Thanksgiving comes the following week after my birthday and then we dive into all things Christmas.

However this season is so different…… At this moment my legs are propped up on my moms lap. I can see her fighting tears in her eyes, only because she can see the tears streaming mine. We sit without much to do, not saying much at all. Waiting on healing. Frozen in time. Sleeping terribly at night. Typically around 2 or 3 I start to shuffle in my sleep and before I even call her name my mom is at my side to help me to the bathroom. Our night ritual typically involves the bathroom, me taking some pain medication, my mom kissing me on the forehead and asking how I feel. I nod my head and attempt to lay down so I am sitting up properly. Sleeping on my side is not an option, fortunately soon after I am able to fall asleep upright….. It is as though I have become a child again. 
I often wonder what she and my dad are thinking…. probably not far from what I am thinking. How did we get here? What happened? In so many ways my surgery seems as though it happened ages ago but then I look down and remember I cannot feel anything in my chest, it is numb. If I feel closely I can feel the plastic tubing (drain) weaved throughout my chest. My range of motion is limited to about 90 degrees and the deeper I breath the more pressure it puts on my chest. Yawns are the worst. All of these things remind me that surgery was less than a week ago.

**** This I wrote this morning

For the past few mornings I am woken up with coffee either from my mom, dad, best friend Rachel (we are staying at her house) or Erin who has been staying here. My mom assists in emptying my drains first thing, to measure the fluid. Yesterday I washed my hair for the first time. In the sink of course. Never knew how wet hair could feel so good. A temporary sort of clean, that for few moments makes me feel like I am a girl again.

Tonight I am sitting next to my mom as she reads through the countless cards I have received. We find great comfort in re-reading them, knowing that others are in this with me. Rachel and Erin are working on their laptops in between responding to my requests. (water, kombucha, chap stick….). I appreciate patience as visitors slowly make their way to see me. As you could have guessed I am not very good at resting and realized this morning I have not taken a nap yet. My body this morning I believe was asking for it.  My stomach was unsettled. I found myself sitting on the floor in the bathroom leaning over a small bucket unsure what were tears or saliva before I was going to get sick. Afraid of getting sick I began to pray…… someone recently shared with me that perhaps praying doesn’t look as conventional as we think it should. Between tears and pleas with my heart aches…… I remember that this journey is just beginning. Praying for peace, for rest and to know that the greatest author is still writing the greatest story for me in my future…..

So each time I try to pick something up, or walk up and down the stairs I am trying to slow down and to be still. Allow my body to heal…..

I read this today and I really like it….

“To be alive is to be broken. And to be broken is to stand in the need of grace. Honesty keeps us in touch with our neediness and the trust that we are saved sinners. There is a beautiful transparency to honest disciples who never wear a false face and do not pretend to be anything but who they are.” Brennan Manning.

I am certainly not pretending, I am just still coming to terms that I have breast cancer and four days ago I had a double mastectomy. Taking deep breaths….. (just not too deep, it hurts).

Crossift Coaches come bearing gifts.

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