Sorry for my unannounced hiatus. I took some time away from technology for Lent, which didn’t go at all the way I hoped. I had to reevaluate what I’m doing here on the blog and decide whether or not to continue. I decided to proceed with caution, because I know the things I say here really hit home in a difficult way for some of my readers.
It’s been six months since the last round of chemo–not something I want to celebrate, but I’ll leave a stone there to remember it. My body is not the same, which comes with moments of gratitude and unrelenting frustration. For many weeks I couldn’t climb a flight of stairs without my heart racing, and thereafter relegated myself to the couch for months to crochet rather than exercise.
But with each round of labs, we started noticing some predictability in my platelet counts, which meant the chemo was starting to do its job. I’m out of the official wait-and-see period now, and my doctor is pleased with the results even though they aren’t technically “normal.” Sometimes stability is more desirable than remission. Stability is predictability, and predictability means freedom. Even so, I believe by this time next year, my doctor may be calling this remission.
My brain fog still comes and goes but seems to have passed overall. I’m probably most grateful for that right now, because it’s not easy to be a professional writer and constantly feel like I’ve had one too many sips of liquid Benadryl.
The theme of the last six months has been change, which has been accompanied by its friend, failure. Change and failure have clouded my mind with doubt about my skills, my ability, my “calling,” so to speak. I have so many unfinished projects, and I can’t blame fatigue for all of my failure to finish. What would happen if I just finished one thing? Am I willing to make even more changes to ensure I can finish what I started? Will God show up? Because this is impossible without some divine intervention and inspiration.
I’m pedaling uphill trying to gain a little momentum and break away from life post-chemo. I know I’ll fall into unhealthy habits if I don’t give my heart a little push, literally and figuratively.
A few weeks ago, a sentence appeared in my mind out of nowhere, so I wrote it down on a trusty sticky note and stuck it to my bathroom mirror.
God is interested in your failure because he is interested in your future.
It feels a little clunky to me right now, so I’m hesitant to share it. I think it’s part of a huge calling to embrace failure and take it with grace because it’s the only way forward. What does it mean to you? How has your perspective on failure affected your daily life?
I am grateful for your prayers, words of encouragement, curious inquiries, and for loving us through this. We cannot ever feel alone when are loved by the Church like this. Thank you, thank you, thank you.