A circuitous post about gratitude (and why I'm decidedly NOT grateful for cancer)

Leave it to me to put off blogging until I'm practically finished with my chemo regimen. But do you hear that, friends?? It's true: we are reaching the end of phase 1 for Liz! Just two more weeks of Taxol (the friendlier of chemo chums) and I am done! When I scheduled my last two infusions, the receptionist asked if I would be throwing a party. To which I, in a benedryl/zofran/steroid/chemo haze, most enthusiastically replied, "ALL OF JULY is going to be one enormous party!!!"
It's true, to a point. As my neurotic super-organized planner reveals, next month is filled to the rafters with celebratory good times. "For life is short, but sweet for certain." (it's already been said: I'm the 90's biggest fan.)

I feel a little bit braggy when people ask me how I'm feeling. Most of the time, I feel good. So much so, that I literally forget I'm sick. I'm still working (very part-time), and I still do normal mom things. Like forget to take things out of the freezer.

To that end, I really have our extended network of support to thank. If it weren't for such selfless, loving, prayerful people lifting our family up every single day, I wouldn't have the time or energy to keep up with so many things. I certainly wouldn't be writing. (Sorry if that one bums you out.)

Life happens very quickly when you're going by the cancer-clock, especially when it's multiplied by 2 (so many appointments, so much paperwork to deal with, a toddler who's still in diapers). It's easy to get swept up in the chaos and forget to send out the trillion thank you notes to the trillion people who are, in the end, really holding you together.

So. Today is about thanks. Because gratitude changes everything.

First, I'm not going to tell you that I'm grateful I got cancer. Or that my husband's Mesothelioma has been a "blessing in disguise" because it brought our family closer together, and it ignited our Faith. Give me a break.

People say they're "happy" they were diagnosed with cancer for a number of reasons, and I sort of get what they're saying...but I also think they're loco, and I wholeheartedly disagree. Cancer is not a fun part of my life. You can leave the "journey" metaphor at the door, too. I get it, but no. If calling it a blessing or a journey makes you feel better about your crummy disease, that's terrific. I won't be using those terms because they grossly oversimplify something that is abominably savage and ruins peoples' lives. Those terms also imply that I should be Sister Mary Sunshine all the time. I'm not. Most definitely.

With that stirring preface out of the way, let's bring the happy back to this post, shall we? I'm not grateful for cancer, we've covered that much. What I am grateful for is pretty much everything else in my life. Sorry for being a cheeseball, but it's true! Sometimes it's way too easy for me to forget how impossibly beautiful my life is, and shame on me for that. I ought to keep a running list of things that, oh my goodness, set my heart on fire with gratitude. Like:

1. My freezer is jam-packed with homemade, heat-and-eat meals from some of the most gracious, wonderful souls on the planet. Some of these people are complete strangers to me, but they have such selfless hearts that they want to feed my little family when I just can't. What a gift.

2. I still have health insurance! My diagnosis landed about 10 days before my husband's short-term disability was supposed to run dry. Stress like you wouldn't believe. I scrambled to get on Medicaid, but I haven't even needed to use it because Paul's job is still covering us, 8 months after he became disabled. Another hard-learned lesson for me to just chill and trust the Big G.

3. My daughter has reached the age where she goes to bed minus all the theatrics and tears of a few months ago. This is big. This makes me more grateful than a lot of amazing things. I'm a simple gal.

4. Astoundingly, we have enough money every month to keep the lights on and our hot water flowing. Magic.

5. I'm grateful for: our cozy little house on our cozy dead-end street that is in a (strangely) cozy part of the city.

6. I'm grateful for my dad who comes out and cuts my lawn every week. For my stepmom who watches Ingrid while I nap after chemo infusions. For my mom who listens while I grumble for 2+ hours about the hard stuff. For my unbelievably generous in-laws who flew us to Alabama for a sun-filled vacation in between treatments. I'm grateful for my next-door neighbor who snow-blowed our driveway. For my sisters who drive my drugged-up butt to and from chemotherapy. (Ohhh boy, I'm literally choking up as I write this. Get a grip!)

For my sweet Aunt, for my stepsisters, my brothers and sisters-in law, for my friends, my nurses and doctors...I'm so thankful for every single text, every Facebook message, every card, every prayer...I'm rambling now because my brain is zipping over all the ways God has made my life a complete joy. My heart could burst with gratitude for all the ways people have, to put it simply, kept us going. Kept us alive, really. That is a big deal.

7. My dear husband. He needs to be on this list. How can he not? It sucks, yeah, that we both have cancer. Sometimes I still can't believe it. But if I'm going to share this dumb disease with someone, I couldn't possibly ask for a better companion. I mean, he's been there done that, so he gets it (which makes it harder to play the "cancer card" on him, but I still try. Shamelessly.) He massages my bald head. He keeps me grounded by teasing me when I say dumb things on chemo. He let's me pick our nightly Netflix show (currently: Better Call Saul). He is the calm in my crazy. He kisses my forehead.

Maybe quotes are lazy, but I'm plunking this one here:

"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow." - Melody Beattie

I apologize if this is sappy. I'm not always like this. I still have days where sadness makes my heart so heavy I feel like collapsing in a heap on my bed like a dramatic Disney Princess.Without the gorgeous head of hair, of course. I do have side effects I'd rather not be dealing with. I'll save those for a sad-day post. One where I'm extra salty and ornery. (Look-out!)

But today is a happy one. The sun is brilliant (after a hailstorm this morning. Buffalo.) I'm enjoying a latte, and Ingrid is occupied for 5 quiet minutes with play doh. Gratitude makes sense.