It's all relative

A couple of days ago, Kate made her first joke connected with this whole breast cancer business.

We were reading a library book in the master bedroom - I had gotten out of the shower 20 minutes prior - and Kate looks at my head with mock horror, her eyes shining with amusement.

"Mom. You are not going to believe this," she said. "But you are BALD."

"W-H-A-T??!!!!" I exclaimed. "You are KIDDING me. How did that happen?!!!"

"You lost your hair in the shower. It just came out! I think you'll find it in there."

She and I chuckled together. I told her I was excited to get my hair back, yet also glad that this super strong medicine makes certain the cancer stays gone. I am excited to be at the point where I don't think about this current reality throughout my day, whether it's because I use a hair clip to click open my watch (fragile fingernails) or because I'm hunting a box of Kleenx to stanch a runny nose (missing nose hair).

However, the idea of a recurrence is something that will linger - especially since I will visit my oncologist and surgeon once every few months the first couple of years. Last week, I asked the oncologist's staff about my lingering cough - I wanted reassurance that the cancer had not spread to my lungs. The physician's assistant said he felt "99 percent" sure that it was not lung cancer.

"But you can't know that. It could be," I persisted.

"You're right, I can't know ... but it's not." He paused. "But if it is, you would get the same treatment you are getting now."

It felt like the punchline to a grim joke. I preferred my 5-year-old's humor to this.

"I cried out, 'I am slipping!'
but your unfailing love, O LORD, supported me.
When doubts filled my mind,
your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer." Psalm 94:18-19

Today we girls met with some friends for lunch. When we first arrived, there was a little boy wearing a pink sweatshirt with a snowman on it. I caught his eye and told him how much I liked his shirt - and I was startled to see that this child had a large chunk of hair missing from the back of their head. This was a little girl who had recently gone through some kind of treatment and her hair was (mostly) growing out.

I wanted to scoop her up and kiss the back of her sweet 4-year-old head. Instead, obviously-likewise-in-treatment me made eye contact with the mom and grandma. We shared a sad, knowing smile over the heads of our little people. The whole thing happened in seconds but I'll think about them for a long time to come.

(Have I thanked you recently, Jesus, for sparing Kate cancer? Thank you, Lord. Please be with that family we briefly met today as they continue on.)

How about this splendid news: After tomorrow, I have three chemo treatments left. THREE! I am so over having no eyelashes and eyebrows. And how great will nose hair be? And functioning fingernails? I have started experiencing numbness in my toes, but it reminds me how thankful I am that sensation fully returned to my hands. I would much rather button my shirt than feel my socks, anyways, wouldn't you?