The Bee Team

Since I’ve chosen to document my cancer journey here, I hope you’ll indulge me in a few moments of vulnerability. Everyone remarks on how positive Ive been since I began sharing- but remember that social media is a highlight reel.  I didn’t share pictures or video of me when I was alone and the doctor told me I have cancer.  I didn’t show you that I was crying so hard after he told me that I called my parents on speakerphone and had him tell them because I couldn’t.  I didn’t show when the doctor left and I called my parents again that all I could do was cry and say “I’m so scared”. Or that I texted some friends and asked if one of them could come sit with me at the hospital because John was taking care of an appointment with the kids but I was too afraid to be alone.  My sweet friend Irene stopped what she was doing on the last Friday afternoon before Christmas and came to the hospital and sat with me while I cried and she calmed me down and kept me focused on small tasks I could accomplish until John arrived. I didn’t show what it was like telling my husband that evening when he came back after dropping the girls off at dance that I have cancer and that the doctor thought it was a cancer that would have been a much more difficult battle.  Or when my mom and dad arrived at the hospital and I cried more.  

I made the quickest and most impulsive decision of my life when my sister texted and asked me if I wanted her to come because she could get on a plane in an hour and I didn’t even hesitate to text her back and say “Yes. I need you.” And I cried when she got to my hospital room late that night.  

I didn’t share what it was like to be in the hospital on oxygen and crying because it took everything I had to get up to go to the bathroom. I hated that I needed help to go to the bathroom because I had so many lines and wires. That I cried because I was going to have to go home on oxygen and that made me feel like an invalid and I didn’t want to be an invalid. 

I didn’t share that I fell apart when Pastor Steve came to see me and I had to tell him I have cancer.  Or what it was like to tell the girls and that I had to ask my sister to explain it further because I just couldn’t. 

I didn’t show how hard I clung to the comment that the second oncologist made in the hospital when he said that my profile looked more like lymphoma to him.  

You didn’t see what it was like to make it through the 10 days from the first time a doctor said “cancer” until my biopsy results came back and I read the words “Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma”. You didn’t see how hard I cried because that diagnosis was an actual relief from the original diagnosis. 

I didn’t show what it is like to cry my way through countless blood draws and IV placements.  Or the night that I cried in our bed for an hour because I’m going to lose my hair and it feels silly and vain in the face of everything it could have been.  

I shared a smile after I got my port inserted, but not that I was in so much pain during the PET scan after my port was inserted that I cried almost all the way through it and the longest hour of my life until I got pain medication and relief.  

I didn’t show what it is like to realize that the medication they put into my body to get rid of the cancer is so potent and toxic that my nurses wear two pairs of gloves when they handle the bags.  Or that every time I am given a new chemo drug I receive a pre-medication to combat the known side effects and the nurse stays with me to make sure I don’t have an adverse reaction.  

So yes, I am choosing to be positive and share that positivity with all of you, but please know that I’ve cried plenty of scared and sad tears. I have also cried so many more tears of gratitude because over and over I’ve seen the kindness, generosity and love of the communities we’ve been a part of. Not everyone has the opportunity to find out that the love and kindness you put out into the world comes back to you ten fold when you’re in your hour of need. 

Love, B 💚🐝💚