It's been a month of figuring myself out. Or maybe I should say not figuring myself out. This funk that now inhabits my mindset has been long lived. The assurance of Christmas coming and restoring my balance, much to my dismay, came and went unaccomplished. It wasn't depression. It wasn't anger. It wasn't hopeless. It was rather frustration, irritation, and fatigue. The tiniest of things set me off kilter. And the biggest of things kept me off balanced. I'd found a new norm...and I didn't like it one bit. I'm grateful that you, if in my presence, most likely would not be aware of my demeanor. In fact, the social and work environment re-grounded me a bit. But then the re-entry back into the packing of boxes, or the gathering of documents, or the ninth running of errand, or the the climbing of 10 stairs and finding myself winded brings back into the play the bubble of irritation/frustration/or fatigue. And then...Tuesday came.
Tuesday morning I woke up different. Or rather, I woke up familiar. Familiar had been missing for at least one, and now maybe two, months. And it makes no sense whatsoever why Tuesday was the magic day. We are still right in the middle of the woes (ok Sally, be positive...the joys!) of moving. This coming is our last weekend in our "forever home" as God decided "forever" was better defined by his terms rather than my own. So as I am STILL packing up boxes and organizing de-activations and re-activations, and paint colors, and mail transfers, and the mess of loan paper work, and closing documents, I was suspecting my funk would only grow. I had confided in a very small few that I was worried what next week would bring out of me. I felt I was on my emotional last limb. And then....Tuesday came.
It was as dramatic as night and day, this Tuesday. I had found my chuckle again. I found anticipation. Grabbing a box and unloading the closet felt freeing (in that I love to organize), instead of debilitating in the frustration of one more thing to do. I see my to-do list and now want to mark it off instead of curling up in exhaustion of what is left to do. I was suspicious it was to be short lived, this highly anticipated return to familiar, surely limited to a few hours or a half day at best. But then the next day came and voila! "Happy-GO-Lucky Sally" is still in tact! And then at dinner tonight with my life's "board of directors", I was able to contribute and laugh! The timing is bizarre, but the timing is appreciated as next week is most definitely going to be a zoo. And a zoo is much better tackled with happy-go-lucky Sally in tact compared to ticked-off Sally who I now loathe and want to bury in a deep sopping wet hole in the "forever" back yard.
Had the rest for the weary finally come? (Though I doubt my level of weary is what the verse was targeting in Matthew Chapter 11.) Had my process of restoration finally begun processing? What I know is I am suddenly finding happiness in the day to day moments of moving. Don't get me wrong, it's is still a ridiculous to-do list that would have any of us spinning, but I see the purpose in the task and find it manageable instead of constricting. My corner has been turned and it just may be long-lived!
Simultaneously, I find myself at a place where mastectomy is behind me. Still part of me in that it always will be in the here and now, these impostor boobs and their creation story. But I have this understanding (expectation?) that they've made their last surgical debut. The complication is over and the angst in check. I've not yet reached the same verdict with the fibrosis. I know not yet what that might bring. There is the underlying wave of suspicion that its effects have yet to unfold or fully declare itself. My head tells me it's contained, but my heart sways me in the uncertainty. Once every few weeks, Medscape sends me summary reviews on disease state topics. Coronary Artery Disease, Obesity, Asperger's Syndrome, Ewings sarcoma. One never knows what you will get. You open your inbox and contained before you are a multitude of literature reviews and clinical studies compiled for the topic at hand. This week? "The killer without a cause." "How do you identify and manage this frequently fatal condition." "Evolution and risk factors for early mortality in IPF." You guessed correctly. Pulmonary Fibrosis. Seriously?!?! What are the chance of that timing. Of the billions of diagnoses to be reviewed and documented THIS is the one they send to me the very month of my scare. I have radiation induced pulmonary fibrosis. Idiopathic isn't in my diagnosis list any more. So why does it weigh on my mind still? I need to understand more why I have the symptoms and where it will go. Knowledge is empowering....and also a plague. I'm eager for February to come to gain some better understanding. Delightful Fibrosis Guru will ease my mind. That's her job.
Until then, I'm working to focus on the comfort radiation induced comparatively brings, and I remind myself of life outside of self. I have a friend who has entered hospice. I have a friend who's son is now wayward. I have a friend who had breast reconstruction this week. I have a friend undergoing lumpectomy next week. I have a friend who is a single parent of 2 having difficulty navigating the course. I have a friend whose husband has lost his voice. I have a friend who attempted to take their life. All of these are reminders of how blessed I am in circumstance and all will soon be reminders of how God prevails. God has provided me a hand picked house of his choosing. God has provided me a job I adore. God has provided me the fulfillment that comes from family. God has provided me my story of resilience in circumstance, blessings and grace undeserved, and the power to see through the muck to what beauty lies underneath. He provides me vision when I seem off course, as I have these last 2 months, and reminders that he can bring me back. God has provided me restoration. And guess what? He gave you the same.
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