Breast cancer is a very odd disease. I’m just not sick.
I rode my mountain bike up a very nice trail this morning and accidentally ran over a huge lizard (he was fine; I turned around to check). I went to church, cleaned the bathroom, made cookies, washed dishes, went to the library. Apart from the occasional attack of the shivers, which are successfully treated with a fuzzy blanket and a husby-hug, I feel pretty great.
And yet, I’m receiving cards that urge me to “get well soon.” “Hope your recovery is fast.” “Please call if there’s anything I can do.” It would be great to shuffle off the bathroom-cleaning chore, but after riding my bicycle and feeling like a million dollars this morning, skiving off the housework would be cheating.
Maybe that’s the creepy part of breast cancer. Not even a sniffle, but I know that without modern medical developments and my own dedication to a long, uncomfortable course of treatment, I would face a frightening future.
So now I’m preparing for battle. I’m gearing up to get sick, so I can get well.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11