Today, I Start Fighting for My Life

That is such a strange and terrifying sentence to write.

Yesterday, my port was placed successfully. I’m incredibly sore today, but the hardest part has been Brooks not understanding why Mommy suddenly can’t pick him up. He reaches for me and I can’t scoop him into my arms. I know it’s temporary, but right now, that hurts more than the port does.

Last night, before all of this officially began, I got to sit around a table and have a great meal with friends.

Some of them have been part of my life for years. Lifelong friendships that have already walked through so many chapters with me. Others are newer friendships that are becoming incredibly dear to me.

I looked around that table and thought about how incredibly people have shown up for us.

Not just last night. Since the moment we said the word cancer out loud.

Friends and family have rearranged schedules, brought food, helped with Brooks, checked on me, prayed for us, sent things to make treatment easier, made me laugh and reminded me over and over again that our family is not walking through this alone.

There are parts of this diagnosis that have shown me the absolute worst of what life can hand you.

But it has also shown me just how deeply people can love you through it.

And today, chemo begins.

The tears flowed this morning as I got ready and headed to the cancer center.

I don’t feel brave today.

I don’t feel ready.

I just know I have to go.

My brother is beside me. The grandmas are holding everything together at home, taking care of Brooks and taking care of all of us.

My dad couldn’t be here, but he sent me flowers. A little bit of beauty in the midst of something incredibly hard.

And all of those people who have been showing up for us are still here, counting down with me and lending me strength when mine feels a little harder to find.

Speaking of counting down, apparently I now have two very special ways to do it.

Kendall made me the chemo countdown in this photo.

Six treatments. Six reminders of what I’m fighting through and Who is carrying me through it.

You are strong.
You will persevere.
There is light ahead.
You will rise through this.
Let courage carry you.
Brighter days are ahead.

After each treatment, a piece of a hydrangea painting will go up. And when this part of the story is over, what will remain is a beautiful picture.

I can’t think of a more perfect metaphor for what I’m praying happens to me.

That somehow, after all of this, something beautiful remains.

Then Lisa made me another countdown with a slightly different approach.

After every round, Brooks and I get to shred the number together. A part of healing my anger about all of this.

And I absolutely love that he gets to be part of it.

He has no idea what chemotherapy is. He doesn’t understand why Mommy can’t pick him up today. But six times over the next few months, my little boy and I are going to take the round I just finished and destroy it together.

One down.

Then another.

Then another.

Until there are none left.

There’s also a little dragonfly on Kendall’s countdown, which feels especially significant right now. She and I have both been seeing dragonflies outside our houses lately.

Maybe they’re just dragonflies.

But I like to think they’re reminders of transformation. Maybe even little hellos from people we love who aren’t physically here to walk through this with us.

So today, I’m holding onto every bit of that.

I’m not walking into chemo fearless.

I’m scared.

I don’t want to do this.

But I want the life waiting for me on the other side more than I don’t want to do what it takes to get there.

I want to pick up Brooks.

I want Brian home.

I want birthdays and vacations and ordinary Tuesdays. Family dinners. Laughter. Chaos. Growing older and watching the people I love grow older too.

There is so much life I still want to live.

So today, with tears in my eyes, surrounded by people who love me and covered in more prayers than I could ever count, I start fighting for it.

And when today is over?

Brooks and I have a number to shred.

1 of 6. ❤️

With love, in the meanwhile.