Anyway, I thought it might be cool to include some of my writings in this space. The class is set up in a way that a prompt is delivered and we all have a set amount of time to write. It could be 7-8 minutes or as long as 20 minutes. As soon as the time is up, we go around the room and read what we have written. At first, I was incredibly intimidated by the format because I was not used to reading "unedited" work. Actually, I haven't really read much of what I have written out loud to anyone. It has been really cool to be a part of this group of survivors (mostly women) and hear their experience and how it is similar and differs from my own.
It hard to believe it's been a year. One crazy year since my invincibility was challenged. And here I am, still standing. I am crazy blessed by God's faithfulness this past year and look forward to the road I am privileged to keep walking. I am trying to dream big for this upcoming year and per usual find a balance of trying to control situations and allow them to unfold naturally. This journey is just beginning.
Sneak peak of what is to come with including pieces created in the writing class:
(originally written Sept 25th, 2014)
Thirty Minutes
From the very beginning, I set a goal. Walk at least 30 minutes every day, regardless of how crappy I felt. Most days this was no problem. But I remember this one day in particular where the struggle was real. My mom had left to run much needed errands and my house was empty. The walk was up to me. I felt nauseous and weak, questioning all I had learned about the benefits of exercise for oncology patients. "I could break it up" I told myself, "maybe a couple 10 minute jaunts?" As I bundled up to brave the winter chill (you know, that deep bone cold you get in the pacific northwest), I questioned myself again.
"Go half the distance you want to go total", I told myself.
I locked the door and headed down my walk way. Goal: end of my block. The spitting of rain it my face as I rounded the corner. "Ugh- round four of chemo is a bitch", I muttered aloud under my breath. My legs are heavy and not listening to me. Left foot, right foot. my hips ache and my back is screaming. "Just make it to the end of this block and you can go back". I know it will make me feel better, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I round the corner and keep walking. I know I am my own worst enemy here. I picture my warm blanket draped over the arm of my couch awaiting my return.
"Just a few blocks more. Make it to the pink house and you can turn back", I whisper under my breath. This is fatigue. Okay- I see you for what you are and I surrender.
I keep walking wishing I had called someone to follow me, to document this incredible feat. That's silly, who cares. Just keep going. The only thing standing in my way is one more block. it is unreal and maybe its just my mind playing tricks on me, but I start feeling better. I think I could even take one more trip around the block. As I turn the corner, I see Jenn. She has come to check on me and asks if I need a walking partner.
"Yes! And can you please take a picture for me?"
"Sure why?"
"I need to document the time I listened to the physical therapist inside of me rather than the cancer patient. As much as I didn't want to walk today, I needed it. Needed it today more than any other".
So I struck my pose and we kept walking. Kept walking until my timer reached 30 minutes.
