Will I Die? Will I Fly?

I had the Blogger post of "Cancer Teaches."  That was really profound, wasn't it?

Yeah, and then on my first day of my radiation consult they found another lump.

"I've never known anyone going through chemo to get cancer again, but we'll still check it out," the doctor informed me.  An ultrasound.  A mammogram.  Six months from now, more of this.  The lump is there, and I can feel it.  Why didn't I feel it before? Seriously? Do you think I was doing breast exams while going through chemo? Do you check for cops when you've been pulled over for speeding?

My new mantra is, "Cancer Changes."  Yes.  Yes it does.  Lately I feel most at peace with my rescue dogs, Saul, Seal, and Chappy.  Each of them had to overcome horrendous conditions to survive, especially Chappy.  Above all? They needed to learn to trust after being abused, neglected, and left to die.

Die.

I wonder, how often, people realize that cancer patients of all sorts wonder if they'll die.  Of course it's the human condition that we all think of this.  Why would we not? But as I've said in the past, once one is diagnosed with a "situation," it hits you in the face that mortality is real.  It isn't the boogie man in the closet that stays there until you least expect it.  This boogie man showed up just as I got out of school.  Now the boogie man haunts me on a daily basis. I will be in the supermarket and cry about the thought I may not be around the see my sons marry, or have children.  That at the end of the day for seventh grade, because of my radiation treatments, I have started to forget names of students.  My energy level peaks around 1:30pm, and after that I am so exhausted I put on pajamas, despite the fact I want to do pilates, barre, and yoga.  I don't have a choice.  My body has decided for me.

I miss my kidlets like no other.  They are off, off, off!  I am so incredibly happy for them, and cannot wait to see them until we are all together on the most magnificent of lakes, probably months down the road.  My house is quiet, except for the squeak of Chappy's "Alien Toy."  The home that I once boasted I would keep for grandchildren now seems excessively big.

Crossroads.  Me.  Do I fly?  Or do I simply crawl and perish?