A Temporary Absence

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Dear Readers,

Please note that I will not be sharing a new blog post this coming week.

As some of you may already know, I will be in Boston for several appointments on Monday, June 25th—including a surgical procedure. If possible, please send light, love, and prayers my way. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

With Love,

Laura

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Thanksgiving in June

Thank you, Dear Readers, for reaching out to me with a wonderful list of book titles, podcasts, YouTube suggestions, movie recommendations, and songs. You truly lifted my spirits! Although I can’t say that I feel 100% recharged, I do feel as though I am free to find beauty in the world around me again.

I mean, come on, look at these irises! They were a complete surprise to me. I had no idea that they were even growing around our front porch until Luna led me to them.

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I still do not have an immune system, so gardening is not an option for me. BUT I can enjoy observing what’s already growing here (I can also dead-head—while wearing gloves—which may be an experience that finds its way into a fiction project).

Speaking of fiction, I have been writing and submitting again. My novel, Greenwood (once known as Weather Witch), is now in the capable hands of Entangled Publishing. Hopefully, this time, it will exceed expectations, be on par with the trends of the literary market and find its way into a shareable format.

It would be a dream come true to see it published.

If that doesn’t happen, it’ll go back to hiding in my desk drawer…or excerpts will find their way to this blog. I always meant for Of Pieridae & Perras to include my fiction. Maybe it’s time to start sharing it….

Thank you, again, for sending me so much positivity. I am so grateful for each and every one of you. Your support has given me—and continues to give me—strength. Please continue to send light and love.

 

With Love,

Laura

A New Home

We closed on our house!

It doesn’t quite feel like home yet, but, given some time, it will. We will fill these rooms with laughter and happy memories. We’ll add new colors. We’ll play music and celebrate the holidays with family and friends.

Owning a home, for me, is so much more than signing a stack of papers. It’s more than a financial commitment spanning a handful of decades. I realized, while watching the wild bunny in our backyard, that buying a house is an immense leap toward rebuilding my life.

backyard bunny 3.0
(Sorry that the quality of this picture isn’t better.)

Buying a home is another step toward recovery.

It’s an act of hope—hope that I will not relapse again, that the bone marrow transplant will be 100% successful, and, ultimately, hope that I will live long enough to leave my mark on this house.

I know. It sounds a bit pessimistic, but this is how you think after surviving cancer. You are constantly looking over your shoulder to see if the disease is following you. Amidst this worry, you learn how to breathe again. You learn how to live. Or, at least, you try to.

Thank you, Dear Readers, for all of your support and encouragement. Please continue to send light and love. Alderaan is back at the vet’s office. Poor little guy had a urinary tract blockage. We’re hoping that he’ll be discharged today.

 

With Love,

Laura

There’s a Wallace in my Suitcase

In February and March of this year, I blogged about losing Wallace. His death was one of the lowest moments of my life—but you, Dear Readers, rescued me with both love and guidance. Many of you alluded to your own wounds and how God has provided for you. It is with these comments in mind, that I have tried to grow in my own faith.

I am excited to say that it’s working.

The first time I had cancer, I couldn’t go to church because I was often neutropenic. My immune system wasn’t functioning due to the chemotherapies I had to take. Any Sunday that I was actually home from treatment (in 2010, I practically lived at the American Cancer Society’s Hope Lodge in Burlington, VT), my dad and I would watch a religious television program together. He’d make me scrambled eggs for breakfast and I’d drown them in my mom’s delicious, canned, chili sauce. The memories I have of watching that program with my father are some of the happiest moments of my life.

Fast forward to today: I still can’t go to church because of my immune system, or rather, the lack thereof. In response—and after reading all of the advice that you gave to me—I trolled the interwebs and found the television program that my dad and I used to watch together. Episodes are posted on the ministry’s website and, best of all, they’re free to view. I started watching the sermons regularly. And, while I miss going to church, I feel as though I am starting to heal spiritually.

I think this practice of “going to church”—while sitting on the couch every Sunday—gave me the fortitude I needed to pack Wallace in my suitcase.

wally in my suitcase 2.0

This last week, I decided it was time to go through my closet once more. Even though I had removed quite a bit of clothing items, my closet was still full. Not all of my clothes were going to fit in my suitcase—so I decided to pare my wardrobe down again—especially since I planned on packing Wallace in there.

I know that sounds strange, but I think nestled between my clothes is the safest place for his box of ashes. This is not how I wanted to introduce Wally to his new home. This is not what I imagined this move to look like. But this is what it is: my beloved cat, in a wooden box, inside of my suitcase.

He’s been gone for two months now…and the wound is still raw.

I believe, though, that watching the televised sermons has had a positive impact on my outlook. My memory is not what it used to be—scarring on your brain from cranial edema will do that to you—and, so, I call it a “miracle” that I can remember the following memories at all. While surrounding Wallace’s box of ashes with my clothes, I began to remember how, whenever I used to pack my duffle bag to go somewhere, he would try to climb into it. He was such a big cat; it still amazes me that he could actually squeeze himself into my bag. My memories of opening my duffle bag and finding Wallace inside, lying on top of my clothes, made me smile. I can still remember how he used to look at me in those moments; it was as if he was saying, “bring me, too, Mom”.

So, in the next few weeks, I will be granting him that wish. I will be bringing him with me.

As always, thank you Dear Readers, for continuing to follow my journey through cancer treatment and now transplant recovery. Please continue to send light and good thoughts. I can’t begin to describe how much it means to me. Thank you.

 

With Love,

Laura

Love as a Purpose

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First and foremost, Dear Readers, I would like to thank you for responding to last week’s post. Your condolences are appreciated. Your words of advice and encouragement to keep writing buoyed my spirits. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

After reading through the various comments, however, I began to notice some patterns—especially when discussing how to find one’s life purpose. God was mentioned quite a bit. As was love.

I don’t believe that these are two separate answers. I was raised in a Christian household. As such, one of the first things I learned was that “God is Love” …as is written in the first book of John. I’m not sure when or how I forgot that, but I needed all of you to remind me of it.

Loving self, loving others, love as life’s purpose—it requires work. When energy is a problem, I think that that type of love might be one of the first things to be kicked out. It’s probably one of the last things to be let back in, too.

To be clear, over this past year, I never stopped loving my fiancé, our respective families, or our friends. I never stopped loving my boys (Wally and Aldie). But, during my first cancer experience, I did stop loving myself. I was 23 years old and I absolutely hated God. Why was He allowing cancer to happen to me? Why was I suddenly living the life of Job? Fortunately, by the time I relapsed last year (2017), that anger had cooled. My faith had grown just enough to allow me to lean on God again—to ask for prayers and to believe that they would be heard.

Now, I am well-aware that there are other viewpoints, other belief systems out there. If you think what I’m posting today is a bunch of bull, that’s okay. You’re entitled to your opinions just as I am entitled to mine. I do not mean to offend anyone with this post. But, to tell the truth, I really like this idea of love being my purpose here on Earth.

I like the idea of taking care of others—for instance, cleaning out my closet and donating gently used clothes to those in need. I enjoy writing articles, pro bono, for non-profit organizations. Some of you mentioned that the hole Wally left in my heart won’t close up until I find another animal to love. Thankfully, I still have Wally’s little brother, Alderaan. Once we’re given the “okay” from my doctors to live in the same house again, I am sure his presence will help mend my broken heart. If it doesn’t, well, I guess I’ll just have to adopt a dog and give it a warm and loving home (Alderaan is a daddy’s boy after all. See evidence below).

There is peace, for me, in this mission to love—and I am so grateful, Dear Readers, that you brought it up.

Please continue to send light and love, Dear Readers. The road to recovery is still 7+ months long.

 

With Love,

Laura

Three

welcome home from bmt

Dear Readers:

It’s been three weeks and three days since I’ve turned my laptop on to write.
The pause in creativity has left me with a multitude of subjects on which to write. I could recount the hazy memories I do have of my bone marrow transplant—the reason for my 3-week hiatus. I could describe how I was so sick during the procedure and, so high on Dilaudid, that my nurses asked Seth to stay overnight, to help calm me down and, ultimately, to help take care of me.
I am so blessed to call this man mine.

Would I love Seth even if he weren’t a medical professional capable of understanding what my medical teams say during my many appointments? Absolutely. He is thoughtful and intelligent and a huge pain in the butt that makes me smile daily.

Tuesday, October 10th, 2017, was our first full day home. And what did he do? Seth went grocery shopping to make sure I had plenty to eat. Later, he let me bounce blog ideas off of him.

His suggestion? To write about “strength”.

This blog opened in January with the intention of exploring strength—what it means, what it feels like, what it looks like. I wrote, again and again, how I didn’t think I had enough of it to weather this cancer relapse. Seth and I disagree on this point, but I still feel as though I have never been strong and that I could use more strength. I have a year of being sequestered ahead of me, as my new immune system matures and my body recovers from high doses of chemotherapy and full-body radiation. I will spend the next year praying that my donor’s cells and my own get along. I have follow-up appointments to attend, a Hickman tunneled catheter to have removed (hopefully later this week!), and eyelashes and hair to regrow.

The truth is, I wouldn’t have gotten through the last three weeks on my own. I was blessed with parents, a brother, and friends that cleaned our apartment so I would have a safe environment to return to after the bone marrow transplant. I was showered with YOUR love and prayers. Throughout my procedure, I had my soulmate holding my hand.

Strength, as the last three weeks and three days have proven, is something to be carefully cultivated. It has many different sources, it can be replenished at any time—if only one asks for light and love when the shadows seemingly grow long.

Please continue sending good thoughts our way. They healing process has only really just begun and we need all the strength and courage we can get. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

With Love,
Laura

On Strength

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Dear Readers,

I had every intention to share something with you yesterday…but the day slipped away from me. The hinges on my door seemed to melt away, information and people spilling into my hospital room at a steady rate. There’s always so much to consider. So many decisions to make.

Yesterday was hard.

I thought it would be easy—the treatment protocol only called for steroids yesterday—but the medication makes my chest rumble with a grizzly bear’s impatience. It makes me feel like I am becoming rough, prickly, like the outside of a pineapple.  It’s the opposite of grace and gratitude, of everything that I hope to be in this life.

And maybe that’s the hardest part about cancer, Dear Readers—it’s not the drugs, or the fact that your body is trying to actively give up on you—it’s that cancer changes you. It steals whatever hope you had in youthful invincibility. It transforms your outer packaging, taking hair, fitness, any sense of self-worth and beauty you may have had. And, then, it tries to take your personality.

I could cry—whole rivers, whole lakes, maybe even an ocean. I walk this fine line between grace and hysteria, teetering over the edge from time to time. I sincerely wonder where I will find the strength to fight this, to outlive this disease this time.

The truth?

I realized that I can’t.

I can’t survive this—not without help.

I guess I can blame the chemo on making me a little sluggish on the epiphany-front, but that is the revelation that I had last night: that I can’t do this alone. I don’t have the strength, Dear Readers. My reserves were depleted the first time I faced this cancer…but it’s okay…because strength has more than one source. There is a vast reservoir of strength and love already out there, already in existence, already fully accessible. You can call it the Universe, The Divine, God—call it whatever feels good to you—but for me, it’s God, and He has the strength necessary to carry me through this storm.

You should know, Dear Readers, that you, too, have been spoon-feeding me strength.

Strength comes to me in your phone calls, messages, and pictures—always at just the right moment when I feel myself slipping. These daily doses of laughter, of hope, are as important as air, as steroids, as chemotherapy. Please keep them coming.

Because I’m not strong.

Maybe I never was.

But, it’s okay, because the strength that will see me through this isn’t coming from some personal, finite supply. It’s coming from God. And it’s coming from you.

With Love, Laura