No news is good news

Sorry about not blogging in a couple of days, but the main reason for that is the fact that I've been feeling pretty good. Other than pooping out a little faster than a normal 26 year old woman, everything else has been working great. Not looking forward to going to chemo on Thursday, mostly because it really stings when they stick the giant needle into my chest. Luckily that only stings for a couple of seconds. It's funny, you know, I used to never be bothered by watching someone stick a needle into my body. However, as the frequency of that event has risen in the past couple of months, I find that more and more I prefer to look the other way.

I thought I might give a little clarification as to why I am shaving my head as opposed to letting it all fall out. Part of it is selfish in that I want to avoid the trauma of having my hair come out in clumps. The other part is that I have decided to go ahead and donate my hair again. I figure that if I can't have it, someone else might as well have it. My hair under normal circumstances wouldn't be long enough to donate because one needs to have enough hair to shape into a hairdo when one normally donates hair. In my case I can cut off the hair right at the scalp, which provides more than enough hair for donation.

I don't want to come across as selfless or anything, because I'm not. I'm more practical and waste conscious than anything. I think that's the thing about living with cancer....most of the time you just live. It effects my life, but it isn't my life.

Lately I'm writing. I've always wanted to write a book and this seems like as good a time as any to try that. Besides, if I don't find some kind of creative outlet I think my brain is going to start to rot. That, and I desperately want to be able to contribute to our family. I feel like such a loser at times because I'm not working and I'm letting my husband support us both. I'm such a liberated woman that I'm depressed. It would be much easier if I could rest happy taking care of the house, my husband, and our stuffed dog Torbow. It's difficult to know that my husband makes sacrifices and doesn't have things he wants because of me. He chooses to buy the $100-a-month nausea drugs I require instead of treating himself to a new cell phone, or going skiing (something he loves). He's pretty awesome, to tell the truth. (Disclaimer: I know that there are particular ones of you out there who might read this and feel the need to send us money. DO NOT DO THAT. Resist the urge. We're ok. I promise. This is just a little pity party.)

Overall, life is very good. Someone told me several weeks ago how lucky I was that I was able to face my mortality at such a young age, and although I still shake my head at the fact that he said that, he was right in a way. Nothing makes you appreciate what you have and each day you are given like facing death. I appreciate the beauty of each day, and give thanks for all of my blessings, even when I'm a little down. In an odd way, it is a gift. Especially in a season where there is a temptation to be more emotionally swayed by the people who aren't sitting around the Christmas table than those who are there. I miss my mother every day. I probably think about her and my grandparents, at least in passing, every single day. But I refuse to give myself over to self-pity and depression, mostly because that would have made them really mad. They would have been really pissed if they saw our family moping around and not enjoying our lives. I think that they would have wanted us to remember them with smiles and laughter, and although they would have been grateful that they were so missed, they would have wanted us to be joyful.

And that's all I have to say about that.