It was a hard weekend. Physically, I am feeling fine. Just a few fleeting side effects, but on the whole, so much better than I was a week ago. Emotionally, it was challenging. I am generally a positive person. I work with youth who are often hopeless- and it is up to me to hold hope where sometimes it may feel like there is none. I am well versed in understanding how to be grateful- and to know that things can always be worse. This weekend, I lost myself to fear. I could blame it on late night internet searches, where I read the angry responses to the "pink campaigns" that often focus on awareness and don't give nearly enough resources to research. I read about women who are stage four and are labeled terminal and how these women were often first diagnosed with stage 0-3 cancer. I read about how 20% of breast cancer patients will go on to become stage four. And then I stopped reading and cried. I am convinced that I will survive and move through this. I know in my heart that I will be one of the 80% - and that I will be stronger as a result of this. But for a moment this weekend, I let death take residence in my psyche.
So last night, I turned to art. I visualized death as a clown- colorful and silly. And then I imagined death riding something equally non-frightening- like a bunny. Lastly, I visualized the bunny hopping away. After I finished drawing, I went to sleep. Aside from a strange dream about accidentally going out of the house without any head covering and being mortified, I slept peacefully. I have only one week of feeling normal before I have another chemotherapy infusion and begin the cycle of nausea, pain, and exhaustion. I am not going to waste it being afraid.
For more calaca love, check out Rebecca's blog here:)