Having To Be Strong, Again
I don’t want to say too much. It’s all bit raw. Processing. It looks like big change is about to happen.
Leukemic rate fluctuates with my stress
Not with my health. At least, I don’t think so. My next blood cancer check isn’t for another couple of weeks. My leukemic rate might have gone back up. I’m only thinking that as that seems to be the pattern. And then it drops back down again.
Not prepared for chemo or fatigue
So I’m chilled about it all. Genuinely. Yes, I want to stay off chemo for as long as possible. I’m not ready to go back on. For the fatigue that so often goes with it. Will it be different since having a baby? You can’t argue that the body changes when that happens. So maybe the negative impact will also have changed. I don’t know. But I’m quite happy to carry on waiting to find out if that’s the case.
Life. I should know that it’s forever unexpected. Things happen that you never thought would. Both amazing and awful. And I suppose I’m lucky that there is so much amazing in my life. That I get to experience that. To feel that intense happiness. It’s a wonderful feeling.
Haven't I had enough bad luck
But the counter to that. As I suppose there has to be. Ying and yang. Balance. One does not exist without the other. But I thought I had my quota of upset ticked. That I now deserved a more constant happiness. That I wouldn’t have to be strong. Pick myself back up again. Be back in that place.
And this time there’s a little girl to factor in. To prioritize her happiness. She’s too little for upset and awful. I don’t want to put that on her. Not that I can stop it forever. But my role is to protect. To the death. And I will.
In a heartbeat. She’s my everything. My all. My heart. My purpose. And I will f**k with anyone or anything that threatens her.
You never understand a mothers love until it happens to you. And my god it’s fierce.
Need to keep going
So I will carry on. For her.
And the dog. Our other little, well not so little girl. I weighed and measured her today. According to growth charts she’s the size of a 3 year old. And she’s 18 months. I hope she doesn’t grow much more!
I thought everything was lined up. That was it. Sorted. Steady. Done.
Change on the horizon. Being back in that place. Which I never thought I would be.
But I’ve been there before and it was all ok. Admittedly I didn’t want to be there. And I don’t want to go back. But I’ll make the best of it. As I always do. Glass always more than half full. Always seeing the good. The positive. Being hopeful. Because otherwise I would have given up. And that’s not me.
So I look to the word "hope," my angel wing, and my elephant, tattooed on my wrists and finger. So I could see them. To remind me. Not hidden away, discretely under clothes. These are my cheerleaders. Always with me. And I really need them now.
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