Second chances

Yesterday, I had a rough day...Today I'm grateful for second chances. I'm grateful the sun came up, and we had blue skies. I'm grateful that I woke up. I'm grateful I could talk to an old friend. I'm grateful my kids could play with there friends. I'm grateful I could go on a drive. I'm grateful my kids were so happy. I'm grateful we weeded the garden together. I'm grateful for the sunshine on my back. I'm grateful for little kisses and hugs. I'm grateful for my better half. I'm grateful I could sit and be still. I'm grateful I could talk to my sister, I love her. I'm grateful I could use my body. I'm grateful for my green shake. I'm grateful for my health. I'm grateful for my voice. I'm grateful for this journey and experiences life is giving me. I'm grateful for the time I've been given. I'm grateful for second chances.

Mirrors

In our home we have sliding door mirrors that cover our closets. They are plastered with kids slobbery kisses, imprints of hands, smudges of tiny lips, and faces. To a "normal" person I'm sure they look dirty, ie; Andy, but not to me! I clean them maybe once a month (if that) when it gets hard to see yourself in them...but in the meantime I'm enjoying those mirrors, and tiny prints. Because someday, they won't be there anymore, they won't need to be cleaned, they won't be kissed, or used for pretend play, or hide and seek. The other day my Mother in law pointed out that there were "a lot" of hand prints on the big mirror in our living room. I just smiled and said I know! Isn't it wonderful? I didn't wash them off, I think I'll enjoy them a little bit longer.

2/28/2011

Every few months I get to go to the Huntsman and get a CT scan, or an MRI to check the status of my "Cancer". If you are dealing with an illness like this, you probably know the drill...The Doctor puts in an order for you to get a scan months in advance, you get to drink a delicious drink called barium (sarcasm here) over a period of an hour and a half before your test, they inject you with a dye which makes you feel like you are wetting your pants, and then you get the scan. The rest of the day you get to deal with all of the junk coming out of your system, it's really quite lovely. This last test my Oncologist suggested I get an MRI because I've gotten so many CT scans and with those scans had a lot of radiation exposure. With an MRI you need to fast 4hours before the procedure, you get to lay super still on a table, strapped down (I guess they are afraid you will jump off), with an IV, wear headphones to block out the sound of the machine. (It sounds like a jack hammer, I'm not joking). The test lasts about an hour. While laying there your mind can run in several different directions. I have learned over the years that it doesn't do me a damn bit of good to think negatively. I let my mind relax, and then my body followed...all the time thinking that I have done everything in my power to get better to follow a healthy lifestyle, to make good choices for myself, body, soul, and spirit. It's almost surreal really, because you are at the mercy of God, of this machine. It's going to give you results, whether they be good or bad, whether they make you happy or sad...you will get results...And you will go forward, and you will keep living, no matter what the results are. You have to.
After checking into my Oncologists office, we wait in the waiting area. There are so many different types of people there. Young, old, middle aged, with hair, without, families, friends...some make small chat, but mostly it is quiet. There is an underlying bond, we're all there for the same thing, going thru similar situations, fighting for our lives. Although I don't know anyone in that room but Andy, I feel like I do, I feel like they are my friends, we are connected.
We are called to the back by our nurse Vanessa. We have known her for 3 plus years, she is a beautiful girl and we exchange what has been going on in our lives. She weighs me, checks my blood pressure, temperature, I get my blood drawn, I'm ready. She leads us back to a room, chats some more and leaves to find our Oncologist. At this point in our visit my heart is racing, and I'm praying...for peace, understanding, insight, love, the prayers pour out of my heart, and cover my soul. I'm fidgety, Andy holds my hand, and we look at each other.
The Doctor comes in, I try to read her face, her movements. After a few pleasantries, we ask, So, how is it? It's stable. Andy squeezes my hand, my heart is racing, I tear up, smile, give thanks to God, and feel like I can breathe. After all day, I can breathe. She does an exam and tells us again. "Sarah, keep proving us wrong, keep proving us wrong." I tell her I will...because that's what I want to do, and I will do it. She tells us we are good for another 4months. I can live with that. We embrace, and tell her thank you. I feel like she cares, I know our team of Doctors care...I am very blessed.
We walk out, and I look around the waiting area, I wonder about all of the others sitting in that room...and I hope that they will receive good news, either way we keep walking, we keep going, we keep living.