My pal Liz--over at The Liz Army--is such an inspiration. Her blog design, her tenacity, her commitment to community and spreading the word are all amazing testaments to her character. I have a hard time identifying with cancer in any way unless it involves a serious bout of depression and flooding rivulets of tears.
All of my Glioma Girls are amazing, no doubt. Erin is constantly working, remastering the skills associated with using two legs and two arms. Liz Z. has gone through craniotomies and treatments--and STILL has the strength to carry a child, give birth and raise her first baby. Katie is raising three kids under the age of 10. YIKES.
Most days, I'm fine. Better than fine, even--some days, I'm downright good.
But some days, I can barely get through my six-hour work day--despite my doting and attentive husband, two healthy and retired parents who are, 24/7, chomping at the bit to help with the kiddo, and a warm and inviting community of friends and classmates. It seems that I have everything around me that I need to be fulfilled and successful. To be happy.
But tonight, I am sitting in bed, and I am SAD. Kiddo is fast asleep, there are two dogs sprawled across bed and a tangled up pile of pink-toed feet and striped tails atop the cat tree. Hockey is on, belly is full, dishes are done, laundry is folded. SO WHY AM I SAD? I've had 3+ years of clean, consistent MRI's since my Glioblastoma IV diagnosis in 2009. I'm as close to remission as someone who has a cancer that doesn't have remission can be, for heaven's sake. What will it take to get the sadness out of my soul?