The sky, as seen from my hospital room window, is a beautiful blue today—the kind of blue that reminds me of summer evenings spent wading through dew-soaked grass in search of moths. It’s the same shade that occupies so much of my partner’s eyes. It’s the type of blue that whispers of happiness, of hope.
Today was better, Dear Readers. It consisted of a heaping helping of steroids, multiple doctors’ visits, and long-talks with social workers. My hours were spent making motivational art to hang in my room, talking with my mom, and laughing with a dear friend. I needed a day like today…and I am so, so grateful that I had it.
But, you’re seeing this blog tonight because I won’t be able to do my usual Monday post tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will be in Interventional Radiology, receiving yet another cervical injection of chemotherapy. Then, after that injection, I will receive still more chemotherapy—also injections, but to my legs.
Am I scared? Yes. I am frightened all the way to my cancer-filled marrow. Cervical injections are risky, painful—in fact, I would rank them as being more painful than even bone marrow biopsies—but this is a necessary evil. This evil is going to save me.
It amazes me, in my more detached moments, that pain can heal. That it can burn away disease. That out of these ashes, something whole and healthy and capable of thriving underneath brilliant, blue skies can emerge.
If you have a moment this Monday, Dear Readers, please spare a kind thought for me. Send blue skies. Send healing prayers. Send strength.
With Love, Laura