I didn’t have an appointment in Boston this week, so I don’t have any cancer/post-transplant news to share with you. Other than spilling my Magnesium Oxide all over the floor (thank God it wasn’t my anti-rejection drug), my week has been quiet. It’s given me the opportunity to diversify my daily routine. For instance, in an effort to build some stamina, I’ve started taking walks outdoors. It’s cold and wonderful and I can do it mask-free—like a normal person! As long as I don’t encounter construction or someone doing yardwork, I’m golden. Safe.
This week, then, is the perfect occasion to share the post that I had planned to write immediately after launching my blog. As most of you know, my life took a detour and the post was never written, never shared.
In the not-so distant past, I received several inquiries about the title, “Of Pieridae & Perras”. I chose Pieridae for a couple of reasons:
a) I adore alliteration. I use it in all of my writings—articles, fiction, my blog. It’s magic to me.
b) Pieridae refers to a family of (think scientific ordering of species) butterflies. What better word to accompany the opening proverb, “Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.”?
c) I’m not a caterpillar or a butterfly, of course, but I can relate to feeling lost in the darkness of a cocoon. I can relate to biding my time, waiting for a transformation to occur. It is, for these reasons, that the cake celebrating the end of my cancer treatment (the first time) was embellished with the above quote.
We all go through dark, difficult periods in life. I have found that when these times finally come to an end we have a choice: we can regroup, recreate and fly, or we can remain immobile in the remnants of our cocoons. Flying is not an easy skill to master. I’m still trying to figure out just how to do it. Writing blogposts every week has helped. It’s helped me to connect with others. It’s been an outlet. It’s nudged me toward more positive-thinking.
When my days have been particularly rough, it’s given me a purpose.
We head back to Boston next week for another check-up. Please continue to send light and love. Your encouragement has kept us going. Thank you, thank you, thank you.