Monday, January 26, 2015

Waiting To Dance



AS PUBLISHED BY FIG LANCASTER

I am sitting here in the pre-dawn hours, looking out at the snow storm that never came trying to wrap my head around how I feel enough to get something on paper.  I have sat here every day for the last week or so doing the same thing only to give up and go about my day, convincing myself that I would find some clarity by tomorrow or at the very least by tomorrow’s tomorrow. 
You see this morning is chemo Monday, except there is no chemo because I am done. I anticipated standing on tables, middle fingers in the air as I yelled F*** You Cancer,  I WON!!!! I anticipated drunken booty shaking sessions in my kitchen wearing at least 3 of my daughters princess tiaras and a feather boa or two. 
The reality is that I am not ready to scream or dance or twirl drunkenly through a snow covered street.  Instead I find myself just wanting quiet.  I am soaking up snuggle sessions with my daughter,  squeezing her extra hard, determined that she will feel my promise to never leave her like that again, through that hug. 

I am holding my husbands’ hand in the grocery store,   trying not to cry from happiness as we pick out groceries for the upcoming week without a single thought about how the food will interact with my chemo regimen.  I am dusting off the cobwebs from my gym bag (and throwing away the socks that have been festering in there for the last 7 months unnoticed) as I am making today, day 1 of my comeback tour “Back To Skinny Jeans”.

 am also waiting for my phone call.  At some point today, (Please God, make it today and not tomorrow) I am expecting a call.   I am expecting to pick up the line and hear “ there is no evidence of disease”.  This is as close as you will get a doctor to saying “You kicked some cancer a**”.  I am 99.8% certain that is what I will hear on the phone call, it is what we all expect to hear. Still, I need to hear it.  I need someone (preferably someone with a medical degree and a crap ton of initials after their name) to say it aloud.
I don’t know if that will be the thing that makes me kick up my heels and dance inappropriately through my office.  I know an inappropriate celebration dance is in my future, however, the last 7 months have been a blur, every day a new battle, every day focused on just surviving the day mentally and getting to the next.  Every day was a countdown, 3 days until my hands are not numb, 7 days until I can drink cold beverages, 2 days until I return to chemo and sleep for a week,  44 hours until I am unplugged.  Today, I am waiting for nothing, except a phone call.
 My friends and family are celebrating for me, they are ecstatic and I know that one day soon my enthusiasm will match theirs.  Actually, one day soon…it will hit me.  One day soon,  I will wake up and the full weight of the fact that I had cancer,  that I fought cancer and that I kicked its ass,  just like I promised,  will hit me and the champagne corks will start flying,  the kitchen floor will be turned into Studio 54,  and I will dance like a maniac.  Today, I am still processing.  Today, I am playing catch –up with all the emotions and feelings that I did not have the time or strength to acknowledge mid-fight. Today,  I am just waiting for my phone call…tomorrow…well,  maybe tomorrow I will dance.


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