Gratitude

Waiting, Worrying, and Gratitude

I’m having some much-needed downtime right now  - a quiet stretch of days while I wait for radiation to begin. I cannot express how frightened I am about it. Truly, I’m terrified. But I understand why it’s important and why it’s needed. I will face it. I will be brave. Even if I’m just a tiny mouse.

Writing this blog has been strange. In hindsight, I wish I had started from day one. But back then, I was honestly too horrified by what was happening to me to even consider it. My mind was focused entirely on facts, appointments, survival. I buried myself in my big notebook full of notes and plans.

It’s odd to sort of relive it all to write it down.

The Notebook

Ah, the notebook.

I took a three-ring binder and filled it with tabs and a printed table of contents. I made sections for my notes, surgeon, oncologist, radiation oncologist, radiology reports, pathology reports, and more. Every time I was given a paper, I printed it out and filed it. Somehow, organizing it all gave me a small sense of control in a situation that felt completely out of control.

And it wasn’t just helpful to me - the notebook actually came in handy more than once at appointments. A few times, I was able to produce something a nurse or doctor needed. Many of them even flipped through it during appointments, impressed by its thoroughness.

One day we visited a friend whose elderly father used to be an oncologist. I showed him the notebook. His eyes lit up. His whole demeanor changed. He became animated, flipping through the pages with such interest. He kept looking at me and saying, “You know you’re cured, right?” Then he’d point to a report and praise my care team’s decisions. It meant so much to me. That notebook has become a lifeline to my sanity.

Saying Thank You

Throughout all of this, I’ve felt so deeply connected to the people who’ve helped me. So I’ve done what I could to thank them.

• I wrote handwritten thank-you notes - sincere ones - and dropped them off when I could.
• I called to speak to managers and praise the people who cared for me.
• I gave small gifts of gratitude: candles, chocolates, ornaments.

I especially remember the radiologist who told me, so earnestly and sincerely, that this was real - to take it seriously. I wrote him a thank-you note and brought it to the radiology center.

There was a young woman at my MRI who touched me deeply. She was so kind - helping me tie up my hair, remove my shoes, calming me through a terrifying scan. I called to tell her manager how much her kindness meant to me.

I made a small gift bag for my nurse navigator: a pink candle, some chocolates, and a beautiful glass ornament that captured how important she has been to me. Later, while visiting friends out of town, I found a bottle of rare whisky - something I knew she’d love - and brought it to her the day I had my mold, CT scan, and tattoos. It was such a joy to see her again.

I wrote a long thank-you letter to my surgeon - for quite literally saving my life.

And I texted my old doctor, who is retired now, to tell her how much her friendship and advice have meant to me during all of this.

Finding the Good

This has been a living nightmare. But somehow, in the middle of it, I’ve found things to be thankful for.

I’ve met a string of remarkably smart, compassionate, dedicated people.

I’ve received state-of-the-art care using top-of-the-line machines.

I’ve had access to cutting-edge treatment at a leading cancer center.

I have a husband who loves me with his whole heart.

I have children who make me feel proud and supported.

I have friends and family who show up - with love, with prayers, with kindness.

Even in the hardest moments, I’ve never been alone.

And for that, I am so very grateful.