For the last two and a half weeks I’ve sat in this hospital and had plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to be angry. Plenty of time to be scared out of my mind. But oddly, I don’t feel angry or upset that this is happening to me. Not even a little bit. Yes, I feel somewhat scared about the unknowns and the statistics, I mean who wouldn’t? But fear isn’t a feeling I’ve devoted much time to.
Mostly, I feel lucky. I said this on Instagram the other night. I feel lucky. I feel lucky that I’m here. I feel lucky that I get a chance to fight instead of being told it’s too late. I feel lucky that my husband is a nut who insists on having a fantastic health insurance plan even though we’ve really never needed it. Oh boy, do we need it now. And, let me publicly say YOU WERE RIGHT. I feel lucky that I have access to amazing doctors, nurses and medical facilities. Something everyone in my position should have, but sadly many do not.
Most of all, I feel lucky that my family has been overwhelmed with such a massive outpouring of love and support. This last part undoubtedly makes a huge difference in this process.
There is no way I would be in the mental state that I am if it was not for our incredible family and friends. Tears have poured out of my eyes well over a hundred times in the last couple of weeks. However, I can still count on one hand how many times those tears have been out of fear or self pity. The two I can remember were the day I was diagnosed. After that I can’t recall another time.
My tears since? They are tears of gratitude. Tears of love. Tears that come as I can’t fathom just how many people care. How many people have taken time out of their day to tell me to stay strong. To ask what they can do to help my family. To offer to drop off and pick up our kids. To insist that we send our laundry to their house so it’s one less thing for my husband to worry about. To send meals to our home to make things easier. I often find myself in shock and brought to tears when I think about it. All of this for us? Me? Us? I can’t believe it.
And then there’s the sisterhood of blogging. Within minutes of me sharing my diagnosis, friends were organizing and planning. Coming up with ways to help support me. Setting up groups to selflessly share my work with their hard earned audiences. Offering to help with my work in any way possible. Lining up to come visit me in the hospital. Offering to get on planes to come help my family. Sending me thoughtful and silly cards and gifts and trinkets to let me know that I was in their thoughts.
I have always believed in being an open book when it comes to what I do for a living. To help those around me if I can. To root for others during their successes and do my best to pick others up during their low points. Basically to be a good human and to try to surround myself with other good humans. You know, the way it’s supposed to be.
The friendships I have made have felt strong. Some of them much stronger than the friendships I have made with those geographically close to me, which is sometimes hard for others not in this business to understand. The sisterhood of blogging is real. It is real and it is powerful, both online and off. And it might just be the thing that gets me through this.
I sit here in near isolation in this hospital and yet, I do not feel alone. I feel the opposite. I feel an army of hundreds behind me, saying ” You can do this. We will do it with you.” Ready to pick me up when I need it. Waiting to catch our family as we stumble down this rocky road trying to find our new normal. And yes, I may have cancer and that part sucks, but I feel lucky. Very, very lucky.