I am an accidental blogger. I became addicted initially and superficially thanks to the feedback from the guestbook sign-ins on John's jounal. The guestbook entries from family, friends, and strangers lifting my family up in unceasing prayer was powerful medicine for my aching heart. But as time went on, I found joy in journaling. It was cathartic. John was not the only one who needed healing from cancer. Though I did not suffer physically from cancer, the disease affected all aspects of my life.
My relationship with my husband would never be the same. How I view myself as a mother was forever changed. My career was jolted and completely halted, before veering off in an exciting and scary new direction. The experience was so rich and painful. So beautiful and ugly all at the same time. Shattered were my pride and self-reliance. Broken emotionally and naked spiritually, I had, in the midst of my grief and regret, an opportuinty to experience the healing power of the Holy Spirit in a way most people never do. And with this came the opportunity to use a gift God gave me to share His mighty healing power. So, I e-shared the ups and downs of the experience on the web. I shared the medical stuff and the non-medical stuff. The things that made us patients, and the things that tested our patience.
Six months. Thirteen hospial visits. Eight cycles of chemotherapy. Three surgeries, at least. A few blood transfusions. Dozens of shots. Scores of blood draws. Months of nightly intravenous feedings. Two many tests to count. And then when that was over, six more months of pills (for a child too young to swallow pills), more tests, needle pokes, and a monthly pee-in-the-bag test. Then oral surgery to repair the tooth decay left behind in the wake of John's jaw tumor and chemotherapy.
John was healed. His port-a-cath was removed January 2010, eighteen months after he was diagnosed. He was a little more than two years old and about six weeks shy of welcoming a new baby brother.
My mom (John's grandmother) rejoiced with the rest of this as John reached this incredible milestone which had seemed so far away eighteen months earlier. She rejoiced even in the midst of the news that her own cancer had returned. After 15 years, the unthinkable had happened. My joy in my son's healing was dampened by my heartache of my mother's relapse. The normal I had so desperately wanted was not to be had. Cancer, it seemed, would never be out of my life.
I started a CaringBridge website for my mom to share updates with those interested, but posts were rare. Knowing from the outset that the odds of a good outcome were slim for her this time around (though she would not admit it), I found it nearly impossible to pour my heart out in the manner that had been so easy for me during John's treatment. I stopped writing on John's website too. You may have assumed that I was just not interested. You would be wrong. I just couldn't face writing how I really felt. Since I couldn't write what I truly felt, lest I actually feel what I truly felt, I wrote nothing. To write a sugar-coated, pollyanna version of the ugly truth was of no value to me.
I haven't posted anything since October 12, 2010 (or somewhere around that date). That was the day my mom died.
But, oh, how I have missed writing. There are so many things I have wanted to write over the past year but have avoided doing. I've missed a lot of opportunities to record some really rich insights, missed opportunities for feeling and healing. I would like to keep a private journal for "me only" to read. But I know I lack the motivation to write without an audience, be it a real audience or an imagined one. On the other hand, I want so desperately to keep a record of the little everyday joys of motherhood to one day share with my children. If I wait until I possess enough intrinsic motivation to wirte for "me only", it will never get done. So, for now, this is the closest I can come to pouring my heart out to myself in a journal.
My intent is for this blog to be an account of our real life. The normal parts and the not-so-normal parts. The mundane and the extraordinary. Laughter and tears, vomiting and poop. First words, first steps, first days of school. Potty training and weaning. Cooking and cleaning. Sowing and reaping. Sewing and ripping. Old dogs and baby kittens. Bottle calves and visiting goats. Maybe it's something you want to read; maybe it isn't. But it doesn't matter. It's (first) for me to write, and (second) for you to read. I intend for it to be raw and largely uncensored. That being said, the provocative and profane will be politely omitted, as will complaints about my dearly beloved, Mr. Clark. I'll allow you to assume our marriage is perfect.
Tax season is here. My kitchen re-decorating project is unfinished, as is my bathroom re-decorating project. And my parlor re-decorating project. I'm seriously lacking physical exercise, and my life is generally disorganized. The last thing I need is another project. But, I'm starting another project anyway.
We'll see how it goes.
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