I woke up to a soft, apologetic voice.
“Mommy, I threw up…”
A few years ago hearing these words would have made me growl and rise out of bed with resentment. I would have immediately started freaking out about missing work the next day, and I might have even grumbled at my poor son for not making it to a trash can or toilet.
But not tonight. Tonight the first sounds out of my throat were gentle and sympathetic. I went with him to find a stuffed animal that hadn’t been regurgitated on – blanching at the wall of puke-smell that hit me as I entered my children’s room – and got him set up on the couch where he could go back to sleep. I went back, scooped up my daughter, and placed her carefully in my bed so that I could clean up the biohazard zone.
Mopping up puke at 1am isn’t exactly a spa vacation, but here’s the thing. This was normal puke. It was just don’t-give-your-kid-McDonald’s-right-before-bed puke. And after everything we’ve seen in the last few years, that’s pretty awesome.
I reconnected recently with some amazing ladies from the forum on breastcancer.org that I used to be a part of – we were on a thread together that connected women going through similar treatments. Many of us started on the one called, “July 2013 Surgery”, and then rolled over into “September 2013 Chemo”. I was on similar forums for expectant mothers when I was pregnant with my kids, and I remember the excitement I felt when I found these threads right before my mastectomy. In the same way that other women who were due around the same time as I was made me feel better about my fears and questions, these women could support me in a way no one else could. We were going through these things together, in real time. And I wasn’t Cancer Girl to them, I wasn’t too fragile for them to ask me for support.
I’m a total a know-it-all, so the luxury of giving advice brought me out of some dark days.
A few of these ladies are either still in treatment or going through treatments for recurrences. One wonderful woman even passed away recently. I had been out of the loop for so long that this shocked me. It shouldn’t have, but it did. And with that shock came the dread that I had been avoiding for the last year or so. That fear…the monster that climbed up onto my shoulder the day I found Little Bastard (what I called my lump) didn’t go away. He whispers in my ear every time I get a cold or flu, every time something aches.
“That’s not normal,” he purrs.
Then last week, reading Erin’s blog, hearing how similarly we tackled our battles…the ache of last weekend’s loss isn’t going away anytime soon, let’s just say that. I had quieted my monster for the last year or so, but he’s back to dancing and singing on my shoulder now.
You don’t ever get rid of that monster. But sometimes you can shut him up with some good old-fashioned gratitude.
So today I’m grateful for normal puke. I’m grateful for the chaos that followed, when I had both of my children home plus my 10 month old nephew for the day. I’m grateful for the lack of sleep, and my inability to run a coherent sentence together. Because none of it…fucking none of it had anything to do with cancer.