January 22, 2019

Flamingos, Fear, and a Whole Lotta Grace

There’s something sacred about the pause before a storm. You stock the freezer with pizza, fluff the wedge pillow, and stare at a plastic flamingo with your heart cracked wide open.

Does anyone recognize this flamingo family? They arrived yesterday!

They arrived anonymously. A flock of flamingos, grinning absurdly, now stationed right outside my office window. They make me laugh every single time I look out. Who sent them? I have no idea. But they’ve become unofficial mascots in this pre-surgery calm—the weird, quiet waiting room between “what was” and “what the hell is coming.”

One week from today, I’ll be eating red Jell-O in a hospital bed and missing one of my breasts. I don’t have poetic words for that—just truth. And pudding.

Steve and I are gobsmacked (I love that word) daily by the kindness that rolls in like tide. There are miracles happening on the regular—some big, some wrapped in fuzzy socks or Venmo notes or perfectly timed texts. I mean, we have snacks and pizza and flamingos and love flowing in at all angles.

Most days, I’m 90% okay. I can make jokes. I keep anxiety at bay by not wandering too far down the rabbit holes. But I promised to tell the full truth of this journey. So here’s what the other 10% looks like:

From My Journal: January 19 – Thoughts & Fears

My default is silver linings. It’s how I survive. But even the strongest among us have days when we just. Can’t. Today I panicked. Ugly cried. I imagined not waking up from surgery. I imagined chemo flattening me. I worried that Steve will be scared by the sight of my bald head in the dark. I remembered I haven’t written a will. I spiraled until I hit the metaphorical ground. And then I did what I always do: looked up.
From that place, grace finds me. Always.

Grace doesn’t wait for your hair to grow back. It meets you exactly where you are—on the bathroom floor, in the PET scan room, or while laughing at a flamingo’s stupid smile. And sometimes, that’s the miracle.

Letter to Self

Hey you,
It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to cry and wonder and wine. But also—don’t forget—you are deeply loved. You’re held by flamingos and framily and prayer. You’ve got this.
Love,
Me