Infusion #2: Post-Infusion Day #5

Yesterday, I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t fearless and I had very little courage. I wanted to give up, throw in the towel and yell at the top of my lungs “I’m done, this sucks, I’m over it.” I was pissed off. Day #4 post-infusion of the “red devil” should have been easier, and well…it just wasn’t. 

Sometimes my blood just boils when I dwell on “why I have cancer.” What are the odds? No family history + the fittest of lifestyles. I mean, hell I’m a fitness trainer who breathes, eats, sleeps health and wellness with the exception of an occasional glass (okay maybe two…eek sometimes on rare occasions three) of red wine. So, when I sit down and ruminate on my current life situation, I get f#@king mad. The steps I usually take while diving head first into my ‘blackhole of anger’ look like this: 1) I huff and puff for a bit 2) say something less than kind to my patient wife (for instance…when she has been taking care of me ALL DAY LONG and keeping the house from crumbling down around our feet, I just happen to notice the diaper pail is full and say something stupid like “really?” - I know…I’m an asshole) 3) melt into a puddle of tears while apologizing profusely 4) sheepishly collect myself while doing my best to make it up to my wife (typically involves a multitude of chores around the house that bring her pleasure i.e. making the kitchen sparkle) 5) move on to the next stage of grief…whatever the hell that is.

I know, I know…I’m gonna kick this, f$#k cancer, I’m brave, I’m strong, I’m courageous…all the things! I love that everyone lifts me up with these reminders and wholeheartedly appreciate the sentiment  but sometimes I feel so far away from those BIG words…like California to Australia far away. For instance, if someone asked me to describe myself, those are definitely NOT the words I would use! A more accurate description: struggling, doubting, fearful, impatient, uncertain, just plain old scared shitless!

In light of my current state, I’ve chosen to claim this quote: “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; - Teddy Roosevelt

I’m full-on “in it”…catapulted myself into the damn arena. I’m rolling around in all of the dust, sweat and tears and am striving like I’ve never strived before. My entire body greatly impacted by pain and sadness caused by this horrible disease, and yes, I feel like I’m falling short of my being my best self every single day of my life. 

I wish I had happy words to wrap this up, but I don’t. Not today at least. This is my reality; this is rumbling; this is being ‘in the depths.’ The one hope I cling to so desperately today: sweet Jesus please let there be some sort of rebirth after all of this nonsense! 

>So in the meantime the best I can do is say “cheers to the arena. Cheers to the struggle. Cheers to feeling my way through each and every moment of this incredibly long journey.” I know you’re with me in this, I feel your presence and I need your love. 
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Love,
Kel