Better Words

The veneer of 'OK' I wear in order to face the world is wearing thin these days. Radiation has been HARD!

These past two weeks, I can't easily get myself out of bed. I wake, then roll over and press my head into the mattress, futilely hoping it's not actually morning. I check in with my body, which curls up on itself. It doesn't understand what happens in the radiation room, but it knows it doesn't like it. 

It tells me, "Please don't squish my head again today. Please? Please? Please?" 

I give me a nod of sympathy, and tell myself, "Suck it up, Buttercup! Not going is not an option."

Then I roll out of bed.

It doesn't feel good. Not the getting up, not the radiation which follows. Not the sucking it up. 

I do it, but.

This past week, when I saw my onco-psychologist, who has been a helpful navigator as I negotiate the twists of this cancer recurrence path I'm on, I told him what I've been doing, then asked him if he would be willing to help me find better words. 

He readily agreed to help me brainstorm; said my current word choice, though effective, lacks compassion. My body is right. The radiation is part of my best chance of keeping my cancer gone for a time, but it is not kind to me. 

We spent the rest of Thursday's session working to find those better words. He is good at what he does, so when this morning rolled around, I was able to tell me:

"This is NOT OK. 

AND 

I want to have more good days, like [yesterday morning]* when [I got to spend time with my family on a lovely pontoon boat ride at Lake Jacomo]*. 

Both are true."

*[fill in these blanks each day with a good memory]

Then I gave little Buttercup a metaphorical kiss on the top of her head, and helped her to sit up and start her day.

Getting up was SO much easier.