H&P # 11 + Iron

A few times in the past week, I've been told by friends that they admire me for how I deal with cancer, I inspire them to do better, or I do such a great job of living in the moment and being happy through hard times.  I try, I really do, but I have also promised not to sugar coat this journey,  to be real.

Instead of lots of easy, care-free days in the past week, many times, I've looked a lot more like this:  

It's hard to be happy all the time.  It's hard not to cry.  It's so much easier to allow doubt and frustrations and sadness to creep in, letting emotions spill into tears.  In the last few days, I've cried.  A LOT.  

It could be my meds being off, but it's also school starting, kids growing, Facebook reminding me of baby pictures from four years ago, before cancer was on the radar.  It's seeing old friends and watching their children play with mine, even though they've all grown two years older since we've moved.  It's missing people who aren't in my life now as much as they once were.  Nostalgia brings both tears of joy and sadness, when I remember times past, and wish for that simplicity, that blissful ignorance before cancer, before children, before marriage, before I knew how hard "hard" could be, bound by the choking truth that life, for me, will never be carefree.  It's both pleasure and sadness from fond memories, and fear of not having enough years to make as many more as I feel entitled to.  Pressure that fills up my chest and throat when I try not to lose it at time flying by, not knowing how many more "first days of school" I'll be around for, or how few more my boys will actually want me to take their pictures or walk them into their classes.  It's guilt over all the things--am I doing too much, doing not enough, being to hard/too soft, not saying the right things in fear of saying too many things?  It's feeling all the feels at once and still not understanding what, exactly, I'm feeling or why.  

Yes, there have been many reasons for tears, but they don't stay forever.  I'm angry that I have to deal with cancer.  The hard things are never fun, and much of it doesn't feel fair.  However, I am blessed.  I have more good, happy things, more reasons to smile, and more comforts than many people who have ever lived could ever hope for.  Each night when we share our "bests" and "worsts" from the day, I'm still able to find something wonderful, something that made me smile, something that adds to my happiness.  And, I'm reminded that my happiness is found in the sum of all the things in all the days, not just the number of tears in one day.      

And maybe that's the point in all of this: that we can be happy even during the darkest times.  Even through trials, annoyances, questioning, contention, wars, destruction, fear, toil, danger, and all the bad and hard to be found in the world, it may be said that "never was there a happier time among the people." (Alma 50:23).  Life is hard; it tests you to your limits, but there is always something to make  you smile. 

Stephen and I were talking last night about hardships and happiness.  "You can't base happiness on whether or not things are going well," he reminded me.  "You keep on going, remembering that there will always be hard things.  It will probably be after you're gone that I'll speak up even more."  I responded, "Yeah, and people will come right back and say, 'how'd that work out for you?'" (Meaning, how can he be happy?  He did all the things he thought were right and good, and his wife still got cancer and died.)  Without missing one second, he shot right back, "I'll tell them, 'It worked out amazingly. In the 20 [or however many] short years I had with my wife, I had so much joy and so much happiness, more than many people ever get.  And, I'll continue to have more, looking forward to the day I see her again." 

Then my tears meant something.  I think that might have been the most amazing thing he had ever said.  He is right there by my side, completely understanding that he might have to stand alone, much sooner that he is entitled, but even knowing that, he wouldn't choose anyone else, and he's already preparing to love me beyond anything cancer could try to steal away.  Yes, those were tears of happiness, tears of understanding pure love.    

So, even though there have been lots and lots of tears, I keep on going.   Treatments, side effects, fighting, and the unknown.  Surely, even cancer can't steal happiness if I never let it.  

Guess who came to treatment with me today?

I dropped the ball and didn't remember that he doesn't start preschool until next week.  Then, I figured it might be fun to bring him along, so he can see what goes on when I go to the doctor!  He's a hit.  

Today I'm getting iron, in addition to my regularly scheduled treatment of Herceptin and Perjeta.  When he saw that dark substance in the bad, he asked, "what's that?"  When I told him, "Iron," he responded with a look of shock.  "What?  Iron is real?  Is it going to your heart?  Why do you need it?  It's going to make you strong."  After it had finished dripping, he kept asking, "Are you strong now, Mom?  Let me see your muscles!"   

Now I've had my iron, so I'm strong.....and happy.......yet, still reserving the right to cry and feel for the hard parts of all of this.