Shake.

I go for my test in two days, to find out if the cancer is still gone, or if it has come back. Either way, I'm getting cupcakes. I must admit, I have totally bought into the cupcake craze, and am still loving them. I have been told of a place on Whyte that sounds good. So, after I'm done at the hospital, I am going straight for a cupcake.

After finding out about the cancer this fall, I had this strange visual of myself. I pictured myself as a tree, a Christmas tree, that was given a good shake. All the ornaments and dead needles fell off, and I was left with only what mattered. I had clarity.

It's funny, because I don't know what I could have done to give me this clarity, if not for the circumstances that happened in my life this fall. Actually, I don't think I would have gained this clarity if it weren't for the cancer. I kind of see now why people say cancer can sometimes be a gift, because it has certainly given me much: a completely new way of looking at and experiencing life. And I am also extremely lucky, as it was discovered so early that I only needed minor surgery, no radiation or chemo.

But in addition to giving, it has also taken away my sense of stability, safety, and invincibility. I know that's probably a good thing, but it has also been painful. It's painful to be woken up when it was easier living in an illusion. It's painful to question the very roots of your life and previous beliefs. It's painful to be unsure of your future. It's painful to be afraid.

I don't have any grand conclusions to state, or any eloquent way to end this post. I read in my psych text that courage means having fear and continuing to act. That's kind of the theme of this blog, it's about not letting the fear eat me up. Instead, I will stand on these two quivering legs and keep walking today. Maybe this is a message for my future-self to read, I don't know. But here it is.