A Spring of Joy

Asher and I play a lot of games. Memory games. Board games. Guessing games. But he especially loves card games. War. Go Fish. Old Maid. Solitaire. Growing up I always had a gift when it came to games of chance. I won. That was my gift. As long as there was a spinner or a guesser or something to keep it from being strategic, I would win. And it drove my older brother crazy. (I bet it still does.)

Last month I spent 9 days in the hospital with an infection. Every few hours my vitals were checked, and my temperature hovered close to but not quite normal. One day the nurse came in, thrust the thermometer into my mouth, waited for the eight second beep, and said, “There you go, point three degrees from normal.”

Asher’s sixth birthday wasn’t at all what he had imagined it would be. He spent weeks chattering about his big day and how he couldn’t wait to be six. About two months ago, Ash decided that he wanted a kiwi cake for his birthday. Yes, a kiwi cake. Kiwi is my son’s favorite fruit, along with strawberries, and since he had a strawberry cake last year, this year he wanted a kiwi cake. Last year he also had a longneck shaped cake, so this year he wanted a three-horn. Not to mention his list of 2,145 people he wanted to invite over.

Yesterday was my last chemotherapy treatment. Just writing that seems surreal. I’ve been asked over and over how I feel, and the answer to that is, “I don’t know.” I keep expecting this euphoria to set in, this sense of freedom and extreme elation, but I remain almost unemotional. Almost. I am truly joyful this is over, and I am excited for my future. Yet at the same time, I am fully overwhelmed, and when I am overwhelmed, I think.

Brian and I went out for lunch today. Yes, I said it. OUT for lunch. It felt so good to be out and about and feel like part of the living again. Although the air was frigid, I wanted to stand and breathe it in, soak in the sunshine, and wallow in my freedom, well, at least until I was too cold to move. Then I jumped into our van and relished our heated seats. We found ourselves trying out the new delicacies at Tutti Gusti’s which was having its grand opening. (My zagat rating: Neat little place. Fresh decor. Good but not great Italian. Minimal cost.)

The past few nights have been toss and turn nights for me. Sometimes I wonder how Bri can sleep through my thrashing, but then again, Brian has slept through all six of our smoke alarms going off at the same time (no worries, it was a glitch in the wiring of our home, not a fire). My dreams were like something out of a Tim Burton movie, very strange, very disconnected, and very disturbing. I woke after every dream and would analyze myself even though I’ve always scoffed at dream interpretation. I’ve decided either I’m crazy or my imagination is overactive. I’ll accept the latter and admit I’m a lot more like Micah than I want to admit. I just keep all my musings to myself.

The cries were piercing over our baby monitor, waking me from a deep sleep. Audrey calling out for Mommy in an agonizing wail. I waited, because I assumed she would do one of two things. She would either fall back to sleep in a minute or my mom would go down and comfort her. With Brian in Northern Virginia, my parents stay with me to help care for the children, and Mom jumps at every chance to hold her grandbabies. I soon heard her tender voice soothing Audrey, but the wails only intensified. She screamed louder and louder, calling my name with desperation, stabbing my heart with each sob. I didn’t know what caused her cries, but I was certain of one thing. My child needed me, and I would go to her.

Last night before bed, Asher said to me, “When I wake up, Grandma & Grandaddy will be here.” Micah’s excited response was, “And snow, too!” The boys have waited anxiously for a snow day, and while they didn’t wake up to it, soon after breakfast, the snow began and continued through the afternoon. Bri unfortunately left for DC last night, so he’s missed all the fun, but what a joyous day it has been for me.

So I’ve been getting all kinds of questions about when I’ll be done with chemo and treatment and what the future looks like, and I decided I should probably write an entry with an update for all of you. I hate writing these because I don’t want to bore you to death, so that being said, don your sleeping caps, grap a cup of nighttime tea, big long stretch, nice yawn, and here we go…

In case you haven’t noticed, I love quotes. Whenever I read, whether it’s a book, a magazine, a newspaper article, or a blog, I have a journal next to me to copy anything meaningful that captures my attention. In fact, I have 3 journals right now that I am filling full of quotes. One is full of Scripture and words from great men and women of faith, another is full of sentences or paragraphs from books I am reading, and a third is my musings on life through the eyes of others–great authors, poets, orators, etc. (Yes, I really am a freak of nature.) This morning, I reread the words of Walt Whitman that I had written years ago in a different journal. His words struck me.