Love has not Failed Me (an Alcoholic Celebrates 24 Years Drink-Free)

By: JANA GREENE

Every year, I am apt to say “well, that was a hard year to stay sober!” Some years I’d say it almost flippantly, because drinking didn’t seriously enter my mind.

Most times, I meant it though, because life is effing hard. Battling chronic pain and illness – all of it really difficult to raw-dog. But raw dog it I did and got to pick up a shiny token for my labors at the end of each year. Wheeee!

This year, staying sober has felt like having your bratty cousin hold your arm behind your back until you scream “UNCLE!” Now obviously, God is not a bratty cousin. But there have been days I’d have sworn he was just as bad.

How else to explain adding a cancer diagnosis to my already ridiculous list of health woes? How else to explain allowing the election results to carry consequences of harm to the most vulnerable among us? How else to explain THIS (*gestures wildly*.)

Even the” good” days felt like wearing wet socks with the seam all wonky, (emotionally.) Something was so off, all year.

On some of the bad days, I felt like drinking. And I thought about it way more than the usual amount, which is none.

“Humph,” said my internal narration.”Who in the heckin’ world would even blame me, if I were to pick up?”

“Nobody! Nobody would blame me! “I concluded, fist raised to the sky. “It’s TOO MUCH!”

I imagined people saying, “Bless her, it was the cancer that was the final straw.” Or “No wonder she fell off the wagon.” Or “At least it’s not hard drugs.” Or some such self-pitified bullshittery.

And then I laughed because silly alcoholic; mind games are for addicts! Of course, I recognized that voice from days of yore! It’s the one that kept me sick.

I’ve decided – for the sake of argument and a slightly fragmented faith – that God is not a fraud.

He is only love, and love has not failed me this year.

Love has shown up, hat-in-hand, smiling gently.

Love was with me during the bone biopsy, while they punctured my hip and sucked out the marrow, and hot, sad tears ran down my face, alone.

Love was with me when the biopsy confirmed that I have a form of leukemia, by lending me a calming essence not organic to my own understanding for comfort.

Love sat and listened to me primal scream in my car, when I’ve had unbearably painful days from Ehlers Danlos syndrome. When I couldn’t walk without agony or stay awake due to fatigue.

Love rocked out with me when I listened to purging metal music at full volume by myself, as if the genre could wick the anger out of me. (Thanks, AC/DC.)

Love was with me, rifling through my recovery toolbox, passing me whichever tool was the right one for the job. And I – much like the father in A Christmas Story trying to change a tire – cussing the whole way. “Again?!! Aw, blast it! Poop flirt rattletrap camel flirt! YOU BLONKER! Rattle feet sturcklefrat!” (Only not quite that wholesome. FUUUUDDDGGGGE.)

Love was with me when darkness enveloped me and hope was a little wisp in the ethers, so faint it barely had form.

Love manifested through my friends and family, who doggedly refuse to give up on me.

Love peeled off my wet, wonky socks, and then proceeded to wash my feet.

Love did all of those things, in the form of a God most compassionate.

My Higher Power provided everything alcohol would have withheld from me.

So this year, as I order a 24 Year sobriety chip, I say UNCLE, UNCLE, UNCLE!

I still say it’s TOO MUCH.

But I also say thank you, thank you, thank you. Because after the shitshow that was 2024, I will treasure that shiny 24 year chip. I earned it this year, homies. It was hard to stay sober.

But not impossible, you see. Because who in the heckin’ world would I be able to help, should I fall back into the drink? Surely not my family. Surely not myself. Surely not Love.

Bloodied and bruised, wild-minded and obstinate, and leaning into the Divine Love, I will pick up that shiny 24 Year chip and dance around with it on Friday.

And Love will dance with me too.

December 30, 2024 4

Rage-Cleaning and Altar Calls (My CLL Journey)

By: JANA GREENE

Well, it’s been two months since The Diagnosis darkened my door.

The Diagnosis is capitalized, in case you’re wondering, because it’s a proper noun. A name. An entity. An alternative to the “C” word, cancer. Just now, I am still grieving the loss of one of my dearest friends to cancer. People I love very much are fighting it right this minute.

In the last ten months, it has come to call in ways far too intimate for my liking. And I guess I’m mad about it. Because yesterday, I went to therapy. I needed it. I always need it.

The session went well, and I even boasted that I have accepted it now, as if accepting something like that is a one-time deal. Like a harvest moon in eclipse. Or getting “saved” at church.

I should have known better, given my spiritual history. Because once was not enough saving for me at church, and I’d go up to the altar every time there was a call. Week after week, I would try to resolve that tiny piece of doubting, stuck in my soul like a piece of spinach you can’t get out of your teeth after lunch. I was a junkie for getting saved, even though they kept telling me it was a one-time event, no necessary to repeat at every tent revival.

And I suppose there is one tiny piece of me still that vacillates between Ascended Zen Master (as if!), Grandmother Willow-level wisdom (again, ha!), weeping Victorian mourner (I am faint with the swooning!), and crazed badger.

Because I rage-cleaned my shower yesterday, after an already full day of getting things done, after a day that my body implored me to wrap it up already. I decided that I could scrub the entire shower, even though I nearly dislocated my shoulder by putting on my seat belt earlier. Wise Grandmother Willow I am not. And this after telling my therapist (and believing it,) that I’m handling The Diagnosis well now, it’s old hat. Just another chronic condition to manage. That old chestnut! It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. Anger is in the rear-view mirror, I guess! Bye, Felicia! Fast forward a couple of hours; I am home alone with my feelings.

Could a cancer patient do THIS?? *scrub* *scrub* *scrub* for a solid hour. The answer is yes, she can. But she really shouldn’t. At some point, I started crying without realizing it. I was literally awash in water, soap, tears, and snot. Out, damn spot!

The question is: Could a cancer patient do rest? With multiple chronic conditions and zero Zen Master skills? Can she listen to her body without shutting it down for being too high maintenance?

Can she, without constantly cracking a joke about it, let anger have its say about this? Anger, my least favorite of all emotions; the one I suck at expressing the most? Can I accept that it’s a little like getting saved – you think you are, but what about this sin or that that I may have committed? I’d better make sure. And I reckon The Diagnosis deserves the same courtesy of expression that I believed would keep me from burning for all eternity. Oh, you thought you were saved? Better make sure.

Oh, you thought you were done being angry? BETTER MAKE SURE. Better scream into a pillow again. Better listen to some gangsta rap to calm down. Better pray, step up to the altar – that place in myself where God has taken up residence. I don’t have to go far to encounter him.

Better not deny those feelings, because they have every right to be here. The Diagnosis invited them. Maybe I have to entertain them in order to usher them out? I don’t know. I’ve never done any of this before, and like most things my neurosis tries to sell me, I feel like I’m doing it wrong.

But at least my shower is squeaky clean.

Blessed be, friends. Thanks for following my journey.

September 13, 2024 0

Mystery Fevers and Resting Days (My CLL Journey)

By: JANA GREENE

I had plans to go to the pool at the YWCA today, but about half an hour ago, spiked a sudden fever. So my plans went from swimming to resting. Resting, in case you don’t know, is a very recurrent activity if you are fighting Ehlers Danlos Syndrome OR cancer. With those two conditions onboard, I have to rest so much.

For a couple of years now, I will spike these fevers with no infection, no apparent cause. They’re awful, rising within minutes. We called them my “mystery fevers.”

So finding out six weeks ago that it’s caused by leukemia, it all made sense. Fevers and night sweats mean my body is fighting ever harder. It’s good to know what was causing these, as well as the frequent infections and extreme fatigue. If I pop one fever, I usually pop a few more during the course of the day. BLARGH.

And it’s disheartening that there is no cure for my type of cancer, not even chemo will cure it for good (it can however slow it down some, when it comes time for treatment – and it will.) Might be in 2 years, could be in 15-20. “Twenty years!” you might be thinking, “That’s great!”

Is it, though? If I have to battle fevers, and night sweats, and crippling fatigue for the next 20 years? I am struggling right now. Becaus actually, they both suck. I am admittedly not Miss Merry Sunshine about my chronic illnesses on hard days. It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you just want to feel decent and enjoy a long, happy life, but a host of chronic conditions put the kibbutz on so many things.

Maybe this explains why on “good days,” when I can do things with my friends and family, or participate in any activities, I am ECSTATIC.

I appreciate good days so much, I take as many pictures as I can on good days, even of little things. Because on days like today, I go back and enjoy those pics, and the memories attached to them, and look forward to having more.

It reminds me that more good days WILL happen. Because there must always be hope.
Hope I desperately need.

Have a blessed day. 🧡

September 3, 2024 4

Summer of the Constant Rumble

By: JANA GREENE

It has easily been the longest summer in my entire life. Punctuated by triggers and glimmers and rolling thunder, it rains almost every afternoon. The day will be sunshiny (albeit, hot!) and from a great distance, you will hear the thunder.

At first, you wonder if the noise was a motorcycle or a garbage truck in the neighborhood over. But if you listen closely, there is the thunder cadence – a low vibration awakened, that you feel in your chest before your ears can confirm its source. And then the building growl roiling over the clouds: Yep, that’s thunder. Again. Here we go.

Nobody wants thunder at the beach. Thunder is a rude affront to the vacationers. It means get out of the pool, pack up your sand buckets. Might as well eat lunch out; the beach requires flexibility. But everyone has the same idea, so every restaurant is crowded and has an annoying wait. The kids are whiny, there’s sand in unmentionable places, you just want your ass in a beach chair, your kids in the pool and out of your hair, and BY DAMN you’re going to enjoy this experience in spite of the thunder and rain. All of this started with a little thunder.

When I received the diagnosis of Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia on June 13, when the summer was still fat with promise and completely benign. A lot of people freshly diagnosed with cancer describe the new diagnosis as a kind of hurried chaos. “For a while, it was a blur,” is a common sentiment.

But for me, it has not been a blur. It has been a sloth racing a snail and losing. It has been much pacing through my house, wandering aimlessly. It has been too much time on my hands, angry outbursts, crying seshes, and doomscrolling. I am wishing time away, and then chastising myself for wishing time away.

Because I could have 20 years with this cancer, although that’s the exception. I could also have five. Talking openly about the possibilities is therapeutic for me but makes everyone else uncomfortable. I’m not trying to make anyone else uncomfortable, but I’m trying to accept that we all have an expiration date, and if nothing else gets me first, this cancer will. That’s not fatalistic. That’s realistic. Cancer is not the only chronic health issue I deal with, but it’s a doozy.

Nobody wants thunder at the beach. But every day it comes – the realization- a rude affront to all the plans I’ve made for my life. The doctor’s visits mean crowded rooms where people wait, annoyed. I really just want my ass in a beach chair. Summertime means a season of heat and rain, that’s just the nature of the season.

And it occurs to me today that its exactly what depression feels like. I’ll be swimming with my floaties on under clear skies, when I will feel the rumble in my chest. At first, its mostly vibration, but by the time it’s all said and done, there are torrential tears and terrifying cracks of doom. They show up every day, like clockwork, suffocating me with humidity, impossible to ignore.

So, I write. And that helps. I talk to people I love and to the GTOAT (Greatest Therapist of All Time,) and that helps too. I listen to music loud enough to drown out the claps of thunder, and throw paint on a canvas, or fitfully meditate. The practice doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be practiced. But Jesus help me.

Please help me with the episodic depression that pops my floaties and sucks me under as soon as I hear thunder. Expect it to visit at least once a day. I can hide like a frightened animal in a storm or do a little rain dance; that’s entirely up to me – triggers, glimmers, and rolling thunder – all. Help me to accept that it’s just the nature of the season, and to keep my joy, all while realizing yep, that’s thunder again. Here we go…

Amen.

August 13, 2024 2

Letter to an Old Friend

By: JANA GREENE

Dear Old Friend,

If we were close once, I still think about you. I want you to know I think about you with reverence, no matter what life threw at us to sever our tie. The things you told me – profound and trivial – still come to my mind as random thoughts are apt to do, and my face breaks out in a little state of happy. Please forgive me if I’ve hurt you in any way. I was only learning, as you were.

If we bore and raised our babies together, we were blessed. We did the “Mom Circuit’ together – lazy days of trips to Gymboree, the park, McDonald’s ball pits, endless breastfeeding sessions and diaper changes, co-rejoicing with one another over the milestones our babies reached, because they were our milestones too. That gave me an identity; it gave us an identity, together.

Perhaps we were friends as teenagers, furiously cutting out pictures in old magazines and making collages of our “futures.” We would turn page after page of handsome men we’d marry, fancy cars we’d drive, and families we would raise perfectly. We made vision boards before there were vision boards, and many a glue stick lost its life in our hands in the name of naiveite.

If we made friends as young adults, you were dear to me at a chaotic time. I pulled back from you because I was ashamed of my alcoholism. If you were with me when I came out the other side (24 years ago)? Your friendship is priceless. Not all of the people I love stuck around in my recovery.

If over the years, we laughed until we peed, I feel a poignant pang in my soul when I remember our laughter, even still. (Bonus points for shooting beverages out of our noses.) Yes, if we laughed together, you are tethered to my heart eternally.

Friend, just so you know – nothing that cemented our relationship ceased to exist just because time marched away from us. The prayers we held hands and petitioned to God over? Nothing went to waste.

God didn’t follow our instructions in the least, of course. Disregarded most of our magazine plans and perfect-mommy dreams. Nothing turned out like we thought it would (thank God, but also dammit) No matter. All the weaving became who we are: The smiles, the jokes, the heartache, the lessons we painfully teach each other and ourselves. The music we share, the memes we post.

All of it.

As as we reached middle age, friendships took on new importance. No longer were they relationships to be sandwiched in between the chaos of parenting and busy marriages, but tantamount to every aspect of our lives, our very selves. Friends become family at this stage. We finally know who we are, and that helps us bring our best selves into our fold. And when we’re our worst? You help me stay grounded. It’s so obvious now that we are – cliché notwithstanding – on a journey for real. As the kids say, for real for real. Nobody warns you that in mid-life, you get weepy and sentimental.

Maybe life got away from us, but I remember our bond. I wish you all the best, Old Friend.

Your friend, Jana

August 5, 2024 0

Soothing the Savage Baby Within (My CLL Journey)

By: JANA GREENE

I had horrible night sweats last night. Nothing like waking up pained and feeling like you wet the whole bed (I did not, just sweat.) So, I woke up to change my PJs and my sheets and couldn’t manage to go back to sleep. That was the 2-4 a.m. hustle, even before the sun was up.

It reminded me of getting up with my babies when they were little. I would change their diapers and onesies and change their sheets if they had leaked a little. I would calm them with kind, soft words, and cradle them to my breasts for a little feeding. Whatever discomfort they had was soothed. Whatever tiny human need they had was met. Thirst, hunger, general fussiness – all of it within my ability to “fix.”

Then I remember endless nights when they had colic, and I was sleep-deprived and unable to make them feel better instantly. And on those nights, walking the floor, jiggling a fussy baby, I sometimes cried too, right along with them. Little did I know I would cry right along with them all their lives, when colic was replaced by the struggles of growing up.

I didn’t consider that they would develop needs I was helpless to aid in the future, and I certainly didn’t think about my own needs; the ones I would also be unable to manage. I just lived right there in the moment. I’ve been trying to get back to that mindset ever since.

It makes me want to cry now that I cannot soothe myself on mornings like this. I can’t fix leukemia.

I can change my sheets and tell myself kind, soft words, and cradle myself in a hug, even as I am drenched with sweat. I cannot seem to get enough rest, even though I may still have ten or twenty years – CLL is “the leukemia you want to have, if you have to have leukemia.”

But here’s the thing…I do not want to have it at all, please and thank you. It’s kind of the shitty icing on a shitty cake, as I was already battling a myriad of chronic conditions. I cannot imagine what things will be like as this thing progresses over the years. Ten to twenty years of endless night sweats and crippling fatigue? Gee. Thanks, I guess? I’m such a grateful person, in general. So, this journey has got me in all of my feels. Can gratitude and frustration exist at the same time? Lord yes, friend.

In the meantime, I will try to keep my PJs dry and my attitude from tanking, because on days like this, I just want to fahgettaboutit. But I cannot just fahgettaboutit, because I have people who love me, dammit. They still depend on me for less sophomoric troubles. And I have such a wonderful circle of support; people who soothe me like a colicky baby when I want to give up. They know they can’t “fix” it, and I appreciate their trying anyway.

I know this piece would leave one to believe I’m a bitcher and a moaner. But see, I’m also a fighter, even as I cannot feel rested, and I’m flummoxed by the unknown. So, like a one-year-old learning to walk, I put one unsteady foot in front of the other, garnering self-praise when I teeter without falling, and crying when I do fall.

And in this 2-4 a.m. hustle, I will soothe myself and accept the soothing from others, and hopefully grow in the interim, just like a child, y’all. Because just like our children did under our watch, we are all still growing up. And we all live right in the moment, whether we like it or not.

Blessed be friends.

July 30, 2024 0

Hardness, Heaviness, and the Gift of Unexpected Bliss

By: JANA GREENE

Today it’s raining like God has something fierce, like God has something to get off his chest. A bone to pick with humanity. Not a sprinkle but a torrential downpour, and like everything else right now, it comes hard and heavy.

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of “hard and heavy.” As I sit sipping coffee on the front porch of a little log cabin, I consider society and watching its apparent downfall. And I let my mind play pretend for a bit. I am a pioneer woman, hearty and fulfilled with the simplest of pleasures.

Never mind that there were no Airbnb’s on the “Oregon Trail,” (Blue Ridge highway?) only thoughts of sustenance and probable dysentery. Never mind that I would be long dead if that were the case, because childbirth proved nearly fatal for me bringing my two biological children into the world. I come from weak, generic- European stock. We are sickly, pale, and given to dying in childbirth.

But I consider my surroundings as if it were 1847 and I had arrived here by hiking on sturdy legs and enduring hardship, not by Honda Insight. There are berries in these woods probably, and the soil would be fertile for growing vegetables. There are deer for venison (I’m certainly not hunting and killing it – I’ll leave that to the menfolk) and other rodent-based meat – squirrel and rabbit, which I’m also not killing, but would eat if there was no Chick-fil-A nearby.

This is my first vacation since receiving a Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia diagnosis. It’s good medicine to sit in the woods and contemplate your fate, it turns out. I walk barefoot on the dewey grass. I hug the big oak tree that shades the cabin and thank it for its shade. I listen to Teddy Swims and old Van Morrison on the cabin porch, rocking and blissed out.

I literally stood outside in the pouring rain with my face skyward with the intention of screaming into the void, but ended up thanking him for showing up and washing away my attitude with his tears.

The air is God-breathed, my ears are filled with birdsong. And even though is it’s pouring rain; I am glad for it. I watch the clouds tuck the mountains in goodnight. I love a good tucking-in.

I think this property was a Christmas tree farm at some point. Frasier Firs line the property. I guess we were all something else at one time or another. Each phase subject to its own rejoicing; each phase subject to hardness and heaviness. I reckon the land groaned as it weathered changes, just as I do now.

Every journey we find ourselves on – whether involuntary or self-led – is too much at some point. Things are a little too much now. So I groan. Oh how I groan. Oy vey!

We are home from our long weekend getaway now. I’m trying to carry some of the contentment that came so easy in the mountains into today. Nature made an investment in me during he course of our mini-vacay, and I’m trying not to squander the peace it gifted me.

Turn off the news and quiet the weeping and gnashing of teeth long enough to remember that God is close to the broken-hearted.

I am sick, but I am surrounded by love – even in the suburbs where the air does not carry the scent of God’s breath. Even when I’m spiking a fever at the least opportune times, or angsty about the state of the world.

Pain is a constant companion, but I’ve found it is more effective to run a three-legged race with it than to deny it altogether.

It is a part of me, and hating it ultimately ends in hating myself. So, I walk with it daily, with it. Running with it ends up tripping me up. Go one day at a time – the same way I got through getting sober.

Now that I think of it, perhaps pain is like my conjoined twin; one that dislikes all the things I love. We have to compromise, or nothing gets done. At any rate, it’s here to stay, and that can be the hardest, heaviest thing of all. This might sound defeatist, but it’s just acceptance. And as long as there is still nature and hugs and the Spirit of God, I can accept it with some measure of grace. Even as this land groans.

I hope your hard and heavy era passes soon, and you can find some peace in this crazy world.

Blessed be, friends.

July 23, 2024 4

Life’s not Fair (But it’s Still Pretty Good)

By: JANA GREENE

Being diagnosed with leukemia on top of managing a half dozen chronic medical conditions has made some folks state with a vague indignation:

“That’s not fair.”

And in response, I can only say “no shit.”

Bless them for recognizing it’s too much. Because it IS too much. But the truth – whether you are a believer in Jesus or not – is “too much” is a normal unit of measurement for the bullshittery we must endure in this life.

“It’s not fair” always takes me by surprise. It’s like, Huh. Whats that like…thinking fairness was a viable option in the first place?

I think of things should be fair, of course, and I will try to advocate against the mistreatment of others. But sometimes “others” are not the problem…standard issue humanity is. Our bodies get busted, our minds get screwy, our spirits falter.

Where one person fights health woes, another might struggle to put food on the table. When one is brokenhearted, another worries about her children constantly. Job troubles, anxiety problems, the list is endless.

If you’re really lucky, you won’t have to contend with all the above simultaneously, but perhaps you have. Or are. I have been all at once before, and I guess it lent me an anxiety-laced sense of a transcendent acceptance (whatever that is. I’ll have to ask my therapist.) Anxious some times, yes – but accepting.

I’m not angry with God, not anymore. , I’ve survived a bunch of really agonizing things, and somehow managed not to pick up a drink in 23 years. And that’s astounding. I never expected sobriety to “stick” for me, and I’m befuddled that it has to this day.

I pretended I had strength, until I did. God and I came to spiritual fisticuffs, and he won when I surrendered. White light meets white flag. Something shifted.

It was confirmed to me during the hard years what I’d known all along – life is not fair, but it’s really good. Even with cancer and alcoholism. There so many beautiful things in this world to appreciate, and beautiful people.

Yes, it’s “too much” sometimes – walking around in achy flesh, on a gravity-bound planet that doesn’t seem to get your vibe. But keep vibing, and so will I.

Occasional freak-outs will 100% happen again; I’m starting to think they have just as much right to be part of our vibe as does our holiest, Jesus-trustin’ selves. You know, for the sake of fairness.

Blessings.

July 19, 2024 1

Triggers and Glimmers and RESEARCH, Oh MY! (my CLL Journey) – Part 1

By: JANA GREENE

Tomorrow I will find out what stage my Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia, as well as my prognosis. Sunday, I had a little nervous breakdown – nothing that would send me to a grippy-sock vacation, but enough that I purged three weeks’ worth of tears in one flail swoop. I really let it out, which ended up being a good thing, even though I tried to resist The Big Cry up until then. I was afraid if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. And I was right – I didn’t stop for hours. But eventually I did, if only because I exhausted myself.

Monday, I felt a little better.

Tuesday, my nerves started gearing up again.

And today – Wednesday – I have been up since 2 a.m. doing “research.”

Now “research” by a person such as myself, means obsessing over whatever the Internet says my results are. The internet gives only two types of medical information – the shit that paints a gloomy picture, and the shit that is so clinically detailed, nobody outside of medical school would understand it.

I have berated myself on a number of occasions because I like to think I’m intelligent(ish,) but I cannot follow the concepts that keep the human body going. There are too many numbers, symbols, letters, reactions, tests, and charts. I was lost at line 1 of every article I read.

I am not medical-school smart, obviously. I am an empath who can micro-read the slight variations in a tone of voice, miniscule body language movement, even a “vibe.”

A genius at vibing, which frankly has never paid the bills or helped me read a medical report. I can string words together pretty well – words are my art medium. I can understand some abstract concepts, but I am lost right now. And my brain has only one useful thing to say in all of this drama, which is – unhelpfully – worry. How many times do I have to surrender? Meditate. Go inward, Self. And for cripe’s sake, you failed 10th grade Algebra, so maybe stop trying to make sense of flow symmetry and lab results.

My head is a jumble already, what with a crash-course introduction to CLL Genetic markers? I’ve learned what some of them mean. Flow Symmetry tests? Pure sci-fi. Bone marrow biopsies? Not as bad as a spinal tap, but certainly no fun. PET scans? Makes you radioactive and entails a lot of waiting around.

But I have also learned that mine is a typically slow-growing cancer and is rarely diagnosed in someone under 60. Many people live years (being closely medically monitored) and there are treatments that typically help extend the life. I keep telling myself it’s “no big deal.”

That I already contend with chronic pain and illness on the daily, I’m frustrated with this additional issue. So, daily I find myself fluctuating between telling myself to stop being such a baby, and equal parts Oh my GOD. (And yes, I recognize that there are much worse cancers, much worse conditions out there … this is just my brain trying to hammer my feelings out of my noggin and onto a page, where it is much easier to reason with!)

The not-knowing is awful. I will be happy to close out my “research” study, after the appointment tomorrow. Knowlege is power (for real for real) and I guess that’s why I feel like a puny weakling right now, especially mentally. But ONWARD AND UPWARD. I am actively seeking “glimmers.”

“Glimmers” are simply the opposites of “triggers.”

I can focus on being triggered, and there will be plenty of reasons to be. The triggers that, well…trigger me. LIke: I am legitimately phobic of hospitals. The very word “cancer” trips me up. Thinking of how all of this will ultimately affect my family – HUGE trigger. How much is this going to run us, financially? Feeling like I was already sick, so what the actual HELL? There’s a little justifiable anger there, if I’m being honest. The pokes and prodding. The waiting rooms. The smell of antiseptic. Germs. Upended plans. Good old fashioned sadness.

Next, I think I’ll write about glimmers, and end today’s writing sesh with some positivity.

Blessed be.

July 10, 2024 0

I Feel this Down to my (Soul) Marrow – my CLL Journey

Me in my actual Happy Place, 2022.

By: JANA GREENE

Well, Dear Reader, things are trucking right along. A few days ago, I went to the hospital for my bone marrow biopsy – which was not quite as bad as it sounds.Almost, but not quite. Definitely no fun whatsoever, but as it turns out, I’m tougher than I’ve given myself credit for all these years. I straight-up felt like a badass, if that badass was scared shitless and masking the hell out of it, so as not to upset those around me worried about me.

And I don’t know how NOT to do that – mask for the sake of everyone around me. I can’t upset my husband. He is literally the best thing that has ever happened to me – my heart. I have to be brave for my daughters. They are processing in their own ways. And my readers – most of whom followed me from The Beggars Bakery – have watched me amass almost 24 years alcohol-free and they watch my recovery.

In recovery circles, you become very aware that people are watching you, seeing how you handle adversity and whatnot. I took on that mantle like a good People Pleaser, each year giving my testimony – every year, louder cheering when I would pick up my annual chip, but I hated the public speaking and fought nerves every meeting I ever shared at.

Frankly, I am cheering myself right now for staying sober, because F*CK! This is really hard.

But I’m kind of watching myself, being critical in a way I never was with anyone else’s tender heart, and why do I do that? Do better. Be more positive. God has a plan. Yadda yadda. Ugh. Beating myself over the head with toxic positivity because I know how to be toxically positive and laugh at every situation, but I don’t know how to do THIS.

Am I tough, or am I masking? Am I brave, or am I am I pretending? After all the scans and biopsies and scary medical stuff, I feel tougher. But I also feel rawer, tender in parts of my spirit – the pure and the shadowy – I didn’t know existed.

I was alright until I shuffled into the CAT scan room, so that they could guide the needle through my hip bone, into my marrow, suck out some of it, and punch a little piece of bone for biopsy as well. Because of a series of unfortunate events, I was by myself. Also I didn’t think anyone would be allowed back with me, but the waiting room had another waiting room someone could have been there in with me. But no. Just me and my thoughts, avalanching into numbness.

The team of three taking care of me were amazing – I could not have asked for gentler, more calming medical professionals – tried to put me at ease. But when I looked around, I saw the implements of the procedure, and had an internal freak-out. All I could think of was the Showtime series “Dexter,” which my husband and I LOVE and are currently bingeing. Drills! Sharp things! Syringes! Lord, Dexter would LOVE this set-up! I laugh to myself, then realize I’m just deflecting with humor again, a skill I hones early. Not that Dexter is funny – it’s just the lengths my brain will go to avoid feeling fear is ridiculous. I fought the fear to jump off the table and run…as if the joints in my legs would let me run further than the door.

“Okay, we are inserting the needle,” said the radiologist (forgive me if I mess up on the official job titles. I have seen a dizzying array of medical professionals in the past three weeks and it’s hard to keep them straight.) They had numbed me with lidocaine and put a little somethin-somethin’ in my IV for the pain. I could still feel it to some degree; I am very difficult to anesthetize. I feel EVERYTHING, mind, body, and soul.

The kindly PA explained that they were entered the bone. What a strange, awful sensation. Needles don’t belong there. But by the same token, I am so grateful that science allows them to help me in every way they can, and I say a quick praise for them. Then they said they were taking the marrow now “….almost there, almost there, almosttttt….” and I yelped because I could feel pain and pulling. Next was the bone punch. Mother of GOD.

Go to your happy place, I said to myself….that little house in Wimberley, Texas, with a stream out back as clear as bathwater, and full of little fishes. The grass is damp and glossy because it’s morning. There are bluebonnets, of course. And I see a sly little water moccasin swimming upstream a bit. I am not scared at all, just give him a nod as he slithers on his merry way – he belongs here too.We ALL belong, in my happy place. Van Morrison is playing in the little house up the hill. I am eating s bowl of Blue Bell Banana Puddin’ ice cream, while I dangle my bare toes in the clear water. Ahhh, so cool. It smells like Texas here. It smells like home. It is beautiful weather, not at all hot. And the creek is making tinkle noises, and I look up to see my husband, smiling, and…

“You’re a rock star!” the Tech said, bringing me back.

“You did SO good!” “You’re so BRAVE.” “Treat yourself to something special today!”

These are all things I said to my kids when I was potty-training them, and with the same inflection. And I was not mad about it, nor did I feel patronized. Dammit, I received every kudo. Talk sweet to me. Tell me I did a good job. (A sticker on my forehead, please?) Every comforting word was exactly what I needed to hear as a scared little girl whose screams went unanswered.

In case you are wondering, I did treat myself to something following my marrow biopsy. Something decadent and extravagant. Something I have been denying myself forever, because GOSH DAMN, it’s so expensive. It costed me much, but rewarded me more.

I had myself a big old cry. I let myself be sad about all this. I didn’t tell myself to get it together. Me alone with my thoughts – we all cried. And then we felt a little better. Until we felt sad again. And then hopeful. And then just raw. But it’s okay, not everything needs to be anesthetized. Maybe I can even cheer for a myself, for a change. Atta girl! This is still my “testimony,” and we shall see how I handle adversity and whatnot. I suspect it will be a mixed bag.

This is hard. Writing helps. Thank you for sharing this journey with me.

July 5, 2024 2

Naked, Afraid, but not Alone (my CLL Journey)

By: JANA GREENE

Three weeks ago, I received my diagnosis of chronic lymphocytic leukemia. It’s been a weird time, to say the least. I still can’t believe I am typing the word cancer as relates to myself, because I’ve often thought, gee….I have a lot of medical problems but at least it’s not cancer!

And life – for the thousandth time – said THAT’S WHAT YOU THINK!

A few surprising things are resulting from my utter shock. For the first week, I don’t think I used the “C” word (no not that one, don’t be gross.) I called it “the illness.” Sick.” But I am finding that calling it out by name – cancer – takes just the tiniest, miniscule crumb of scariness out of it, even though I’ve seen what it can do and have respect for the illness. Acknowledging the name of the thing you’re fighting helps the fight-iness, I think. I am not apt to tolerate elephants in living rooms anymore, but face it and comfort it, if need be. But see it…really see it.

A dear friend of mine told me yesterday to stop calling it “my” cancer. “It’s OUR cancer,” she said, which made my eyes well up. I don’t want to bring my friends and family infirmary and sadness. I want to bring them joy and laughter. Alas, like everything else in life, it’s not “or” but “and.” It isn’t joy OR sadness. It is both, and there is nothing I can do about that.

So even though this is completely out of my control – as are all of my conditions – I’m trying to temper the rushing guilt of bringing everyone down that comes in waves. Our sweet tribe – our closest of friends – lost someone to cancer, only seven short months ago. We are family, in all the most genuine of ways. We are all still reeling and broken, trying to figure out how to live in a world she no longer inhabits physically. (Notice I said “physically.” I feel her spirit every single day, and I know she comforts and encourages me now.) Hers was “our” cancer too. Because none of us live in a vacuum, nor would we want to. It was an honor for her to let us walk her home. I hope I am half as brave, ballsy, and beautiful as she, in coping with this journey.

Perhaps this is not a wilderness experience. Maybe it’s not survival-“Naked and Afraid”-style – when one person has tapped out, and the lone contestant braves the wild. Truthfully, there are traumatized parts of me – parts left of the little girl in me left to fend for herself when I was helpless – that is fighting the urge to run. Run where, I do not know. I’m not a runner. But if I disappeared into the ethers, just *POOF!* it would not make anything easier for the people who love me. It’s a dumb thought born of “flee, fight, fawn,” which I very much needed to hone as a child but does not serve me now.

But I surely do feel Naked and Afraid – raw, vulnerable, exposed, frightened. All of it tinged with guilt about dragging other contestants into a jungle they didn’t even sign up to brave.

If you’ve ever watched the Discovery Channel show, the participants are supposed to be given ONE item to help us survive. A machete. A tin cup. A fishing hook. SOMETHING.

WHERE IS OUR ONE ITEM, FOR CRIPE’S SAKE??

And then it comes to me – we are equipped. With just one survival item – it’s all we get.

Love.

See, the undamaged parts of me have a knowing – we are given one item, and only one that matters. It’s not a weapon. It cannot be stolen, used against us, or bartered.

Love keeps me from tapping out. Love keeps me from running. And love will be the key to my survival – to OUR survival. It’s all we take with us. It’s all we are born with and die with. It is everything.

And I’m so grateful for that.

Blessed be, friends.

July 4, 2024 2

Faith Healers and Hope Dealers (CLL journey)

By: JANA GREENE

By his stripes you are healed!

If I had a dime for every time I have heard this scripture in the church -telling me I’m “already well,” I would be a kajilionaire. And the words are said with love and good intention, and belief that “healed” means bopping up out of a wheelchair INSTANTLY.

I can only say so much about the subject, because I have been both a victim and a perpetrator of “faith healing.” Again, with all the best intentions. But much damage was done to my spirit on the road to heal my body. And with my intentions, I had probably given someone false hope. You feel spiritually orphaned when you stay ill.

“You’re already healed, you just don’t know it!” they told me, when walking was torment and the joint pain excruciating. Oh, thought I. I must have some flaw that keeps me from receiving. And as I got sicker, I felt like a disappointment to all who were so fervently praying for me.

Perhaps it’s the “demon of infirmary, which is a little trickier to toss, but don’t despair, Beloved! “The Word is a weapon, and we will command the enemy to leave your flesh!” Only it felt like I myself was being “cast out,” because I wouldn’t get well. I took it personally, and it seemed like they did too.

Still sick? *sigh* “Well, have you thought maybe you have a secret SIN? Everybody has secrets, but Jesus loves you anyway HALLELUJIA? and he knows your heart. Confess unto him, and you will be well! (Why does everything revolve around SIN in the church? Frankly, a God who can heal you but just won’t is not the same God I was taught was love.

I was told at one service by the pastor, “The metal in your leg from the injury has TURNED TO BONE! Get an x-ray, and you’ll see!” Faith healing seems Biblical, so to it we cleave.

Now, I consider myself reasonably intelligent. I get by. But brethren, I believed it. Because, well… cult reasons, honestly. I had invested my whole life in this system in which any disability they can’t hibbity-jibbity out of me in reasonable amount of time (or at all!) was a defect of the strength of my belief. I am a rabid people pleaser (working on that) so disappointing the clergy was of utmost concern.

I love the late Carrie Fisher, herself no stranger to things like addiction, depression, illness and the like. My favorite quote from her is, “Instant gratification takes too long.”

INSTANT GRATIFICATION TAKES TOO LONG. And maybe that’s why our faith is so impatient, so spiritually entitled. We are taught that we don’t deserve to be healed really, but it’s our birthright, so God has to do it. (Spoiler alert: God doesn’t have to do squat but love us and teach us to love in return.

Here’s the corker though, I think – and it’s kind of a piss-off here Earthside: I think we will all be ultimately healed. But we’ve just taken the healings that Jesus did as miracles when he was Earthside and assumed that same healing is for every person.

But on the physical plane, that may not be so. These are meat-suits, and they are temporary and bockity as all Hell. Creaky, apt to damage, prone to wear and tear. Several features do not work. The Church told me I bought the warranty, but if so, the warranty company ghosted me (I tried not to type, “but not the HOLY GHOST,” because she hasn’t gone anywhere…)

I believe our pain pains God – which I still think is true. But that logically deduces that there will be pain. And I wonder how much being a sickly kid emersed in an environment that tells me I am inherently bad dinged up my psyche. To add to that, I lived in an echo chamber as an adult, where nobody would admit seeing the emperor had NO CLOTHES, because they all believed like I did.

Maybe I’ll get that physical healing this side of eternity. God, I hope so. Science is making huge strides! I will welcome it. Western medicine, Eastern medicine, prayer, meditation, and breathwork? I’m going to throw EVERYTHING I can at this illness. I don’t think God faults me for it, either. I will keep praying for healing. But I will also not make the physical my god. I begged a seemingly aloof god to make me well. What I got is an incredibly compassionate God who inhabits this body with me. And sometimes that has to be sufficient, like his grace.

To pretend that we are all entitled to be able-bodied and expect such does our fellow humans a great disservice. It’s just another method of setting others apart in the name of God. But there is no separation. Your pain is my pain, too.

I think in a way, I did get my healing. And it was different from what I was told to expect. It didn’t come with tossing my walking cane to the side and doing a jig. It didn’t come as relief for my chronic, unrelenting pain, to be honest. And that bummed me out for a long time and kept me from healing on the inside.

But I did heal on the inside – I am still healing every single day, from the ‘inside.’

We are not ghosted by our birthrights. We are made of stardust and God-spit, with whatever infirmary becomes our new normal is a surface just a ding in the paint. It’ll buff right out. Meanwhile, beloveds, take gentle, loving care of yourselves. Body, mind, and especially Spirit.

July 1, 2024 0

In the Weird Place (on my CLL Journey)

Photo by Chokniti Khongchum on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

I have been feeling so yucky.

Pop-up fevers for no apparent reason? Check. Waking up at night drenched with sweat, when you are years beyond menopause (hysterectomy 2008) … Check. Crippling fatigue? Check. Covered in bruises? CHECK. Shortness of breath? Sometimes. Totally crappy immune function… bad luck or cancer?

Now these are all things that could have a different cause than my Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. Having been diagnosed less than two weeks ago, it makes me wonder though. It explains SO MUCH. But I have had symptoms for a long time, and have multiple issues that make me medically fragile.

Could be a Mast Cell attack (a comorbidity of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome) causing the fevers. Drenching sweat could be a menopause relapse or something, but since my ovaries left the building in 2008 when I had my hysterectomy, I know it’s not. Fatigue and easy bruising could be my Postural Tachycardia Syndrome (or result from my own clumsiness.) Shortness of breath could be run-of-the-mill anxiety, which has constant since the diagnosis – sometimes holding my hand lightly like a lover basking in familiarity (oh HI, Anxiety! I know YOU); sometimes squeezing so tight, like an anaconda is strangling my nervous system

Here’s the thing – I’m in the weird place right now. I am carrying malignant cells in my blood, but I have no idea if the cells are sleeping and dormant for now or having a full-on rave going on in my body, techno music blaring, glowsticks swinging, chaos ruling.

I have an upcoming, invasive medical tests and scan. I don’t know whether the scan will show no spread yet (and thus be Stage 0 – which means no symptoms but cancer in the blood/marrow, the best case scenario – as it requires only “wait and watch” approach); or my body could light up like a Christmas tree and require treatment right now. I don’t know. And the not knowing is hard, no?

But God is providing so much grace to me and surrounding me with support. So, either way, I’m keeping the faith, and holding on to a hearty helping of dark humor. I have always found those two to be essential to getting through tough spots. I will find a damn way to laugh about things, y’all. Humor is to my comfort in a storm what a safe harbor is to a boat. And I know God walks with me through all of it, holding my hand just right.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and follow my journey. Everything is called a “journey” these days – probably because everything IS a journey – but this is one not too many people want to be a part of. I write to process and believe that going through something hard without sharing the experience is a waste of a terrible era. Others need to know sickness and calamity are part of life, just as much as promotions and clean bills of health. We have plenty of people pretending everything is FINE, when clearly *gestures wildly* it is not. Healthy people make being healthy SO EASY. Some of them just roll out of bed each day with zero pain. What’s THAT like?

God bless you, friends.

June 29, 2024 4

Sorrow Like Sea Billows, Peace Like a River

The Hubs and I went for a little adventure in Southport the other day. We made a whole day of exploring after a lovely ferry ride across the choppy Cape Fear River. Well, we made half a day out of it anyway.

By: JANA GREENE

Nobody talks about what it’s like the first week after a cancer diagnosis. You’ve been leveled, and you know you have a “long road ahead, “but that road is a raging river so far as you can tell. The same day I received my CLL diagnosis, I was also diagnosed with a basal skin cancer on my leg. What are the odds? Two cancers in one day? I never half-ass anything!

Instinctually, you want to lay in bed and lament your fate, with weeping and probably gnashing of teeth, but you have things you want to do. And none of us have the time we think we do, so I’m trying to do the things. Like get out of bed. Like brush my hair. Like meditate until my mind quiets. Sorrow rolls like sea billows, a Nor’easterI didn’t know was coming. But I also have times of peace like a river, attending my way. There is no manual for this. I don’t really know how to feel most of the time.

I was having a good day and we were down for an adventure, so the Hubs and I spent some time in Southport. We even took the ferry across the Cape Fear River. Ferry rides are always fun.

One of the places we visited is the Maritime Museum. It has all the usual small-town museum kitch – displays about pirate life, a few real buttons from the Queen Anne’s Revenge (Blackbeard’s sunken ship.) Displays about hurricanes that have come ashore here. An “interactive” fishing exhibit. That kind of thing.

But what stopped me in my tracks was a display featuring little porcelain figurines of sailors trying to row themselves out of Hurricane- whipped seas. Every crest of the ocean higher than the last, roiling waters with no safe harbor in sight. And this little sculpture spoke to me. It reminded me right away of my favorite old hymn – “It is Well With my Soul,” by Horatio Spafford.

You see, Spafford wrote the hymn after several traumatic events leveled him. He had been a successful attorney and real estate investor who lost a fortune in the great Chicago fire of 1871. Around the same time, his beloved four-year-old son died of scarlet fever.1n 1873, hit by the economic downturn, he planned to travel to England with his family. He sent his wife Anna and four daughters ahead on the SS Ville du Havre, a French ocean liner, while he finished up business. He planned to follow in a few days’ time. While crossing the Atlantic Ocean, the ship was involved in a terrible collision and sunk. More than 200 people lost their lives, including all four of Horatio Spafford’s precious daughters. His wife, Anna, survived the tragedy. Upon arriving in England, she sent a telegram to her husband that began: “Saved alone. What shall I do?”

My grandfather had loved the sea, though he was never a sailor. And he had his own struggles, as we all do. He met up every day with depression, but he also had this bright light – like the bulb in a lighthouse. He showed me the way many times. I remember watching him paint a great Cutty Sark ship. His oil paintings of oceans were always depicted with rough waters, and he spared none of the turquoise, deep blues, and crests of white foam to get the point across – chaos is the nature of this world. Rough seas ahead!

Some might think his paintings were of angry seas. But to me as a child, surrounded by the smell of turpentine and admiration for my Papa, it looked happy enough to me – like riding riding the tilt-a-whirl at the state fair. A busy, alive sea…. WHEEEE!

My creative Papa was also a choir director, and when I’d tag along to his practices, he would often choose the old hymn. It is actually a horrible story to tell a little kid. I’m not sure I would have told that story to a four-year old, but it was a different time. I definitely never forgot the song and its meaning.

It means, “Shit happens, kid. Things will occur in your life that an earlier version of you would have sworn would kill you. Hoist the sails. If you don’t have sails, trust the wind. If you can’t trust the wind, trust God. Because tragedy is inevitable, and saved alone, what shall we do?”

Ah, but we are not rowing alone, and we are not saved alone. We are saved by a God who knows we will get roughed up a little and saved by each other – crewmates. Keep rowing over the roiling seas, and I will too. I’m grateful a little plastic sea featuring sailors in danger reminded me to trust God in a small-town museum in the middle of a crisis.

Horatio Spafford had to go through hell in order to create something that has brought untold millions hope and strength.

I have complained to the manager (God) about this protocol, that in order to bring hope, you have to walk through despair. Doesn’t seem like a good business plan but what do I know? He is the Captain, and I am not. Whatever my lot, he has taught me to say, it is well. It is well with my soul. (Today anyway, which is the only day all of us know we have.)

“And Lord, haste the day with the faith shall be sight; it is well, it is well with my soul.” I pray it is well with yours, no matter the seas.

Blessed be, friends.

June 21, 2024 2

Morning Staff Meeting (for my Medical Conditions)

Photo by Anna Nekrashevich on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

Dear Various Body Parts, Systems, and Self,

Good morning. Let’s start right away, shall we?

I see a nasty headache has decided to show up, which means (a) this will be a very short meeting, and (b) I’m in a crappy mood. So, LISTEN UP!

Migraines, did you NOT get the memo that debilitating headaches aren’t the THING at this time- that getting confirmation that Leukemia is joining our team overrides your meddling right now? That’s a write-up, mister.

*Nods to Leukemia, who is perplexed and unwelcome, and would like a word with the head-hunter than assigned it to someone whose health is already chaotic – the Grand Central Station of Medical Dysfunction, if you will – when it’s painfully (haha) clear that some of this should have been outsourced.

And Ehlers Danlos, you pipe down too, with your pain first thing in the morning. Did I participate in the circus as a contortionist in the middle of the night, and that’s why my joints are on fire? (Speaking of joints on fire, I can see we will be starting this day with a little of the Lord’s Lettuce.) Did I dream I was a middle-aged, chubby Rockette and pull my hip out in a pair sequined pantyhose whilst sleeping? Did a little cereal elf come replace my kneecap with cornflakes when I was sleeping, so that I woke up with a knee that functions like its made of cornflakes, sounds like it’s made of cornflakes, and has the stability of cornflakes a ‘plenty but not a damn kneecap?

POTs, I really don’t want to fall today. And yes, I know you hate the heat and it’s June in the South. And frankly, you don’t give me the physical energy to move me somewhere cooler, so you see my conundrum. Also, I’d really appreciate NOT getting dehydrated now, as it makes everything 100x worse. Lord God, why am I always dehydrated, make it stop.

Sweet, hard-working Immune System, remember: Germs are not our friends. Stop fraternizing with the enemy. I know aren’t armed with much equipment, but try to fight, ok? I know Leukemia moved in. Stand your post. I believe in you.

Migraine, EDS, POTs…Ya’ll act like you’re toddlers at a petting zoo – cutting line in front of each other to get to get to something that’s loud, demanding, only mildly interesting, and shitty. Calm down. There’s plenty to go around.

Whoever is taking the meeting minutes, please note that the next person who sweetly tells me that the Lord never gives us more than we can handle is getting a throat-punch, and I am a very non-violent person. Ditto “God’s ways are not our ways,” and “Just pray harder.” Maybe two throat punches for praying harder.

I ain’t mad at God about this anyway. When he pours our souls into these Earth Suits, he never said they weren’t prone to disease and disaster. The warranty on the vessel leaves much to be desired, but we instead can rest knowing our Spirits are locked up tighter than a bull’s butthole in fly season. (Sorry for the joke, but laughter is going to be ESSENTIAL in getting through this!)

Seriously, guys. Ya’ll are going to have to take turns. Your presentation is sloppy and there is entirely too much overlap.

Thanks for attending this (mandatory) meeting. I know you’re all working so effing hard, just to keep going. To which I say, thank you. A harder working bunch there never was.

The Management

June 18, 2024 0

Scary News and Big Hope – a New Journey Begins

By: JANA GREENE

Hello, friends. I have decided to share my current situation, in the hopes it will help me to process what’s going on, and maybe give someone else hope who is struggling similarly.

I kind of hate that about myself – I want to be mysterious and private, I am just really bad at handling things alone, and there’s nothing worse than feeling like you’re in a sinkhole by yourself, (and nobody will even admit there IS a sinkhole, much less throw you a rope.)

So, I’m sharing this in the hope that you guys will lob some prayers and hope and good vibes my way. I could use it. I also hope by sharing this, maybe someone else facing a difficult diagnosis will feel less alone. I have decided to blog about my journey. Feel free to follow here at wordsbyjanagreene.com if you want to keep up.

Thursday, I saw an oncology hematologist at the Zimmer Center, because I’ve had whacky labs and a ridiculous WBC count for a while now. I have been feeling extra run-down. I already have a host of other major medical issues. Why was I being sent to an oncology specialist? Huh. I figured it was just a mix up. It was not. I was told to expect bad news, which was actually helpful to my mental health, even though was the longest weekend of my life.

Today I got the call that confirmed that I have Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. “CLL” is sometimes described as “the kind of leukemia you want, if you MUST have leukemia.” It is the only cancer that never goes away – there is no getting rid of it, it’s in my marrow. Many people live 10-20 years with it, sometimes without needing continual treatment. It is also extremely slow-growing and highly treatable. And I’m hanging my hat on that. But it’s still cancer. The next step is a bone marrow biopsy, and a PET scan to make sure it hasn’t spread. The doctor suspects it has not, and I hope he’s right.

On the one hand, I have answers. Mystery pop-up fevers all the time? Oh. Excessive bruising? Well, that makes sense. Mind-melting fatigue? Whelp. On the other hand, I have a long road ahead and I’m organically TIRED. Not just physically, but in every way.

I am pretty sure I have done all five grief stages in the past few days. Denial – poring over my labs determined to find some easy, benign explanation for all of it. And hitting a wall with obvious markers all weekend. Anger – WHAT THE ACTUAL F&%$? Bargaining – well, maybe not so much. At the end of the day, God is in control, and I am not, and I trust that he knows better than me. I feel his presence so intensely that I know the Spirit is buoying me up. I seem to be teetering between Depression (it’s a bummer any way you slice it,) and Acceptance currently. And the notes of acceptance are starting to be the dominant flavor.

I plan on letting my feelings have their say in all of this, even though it feels like my brain is being operated by untrained carnie workers right now.

The very hardest thing about this has been breaking the news to my three precious daughters yesterday. Literally the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I am so fortunate – they are all such incredible people and so supportive. And my husband is my ROCK. And I have such beautiful friends surrounding me.

Some people might think I’m the unluckiest woman in the world, what with so many health issues. But I see it differently – how lucky am I to be surrounded with so much love? So lucky. This is not going to steal my faith. Or my sense of humor. Or hope. It can’t. I won’t let it.

Blessed be, friends. I love you all.

June 17, 2024 8