Accepting Reality

Sometimes it feels like I have to accept our reality all over again. And again. And again.

After having such a good week, actually feeling well again, it is hard to face what our reality is. Chemo treatment number 14 is today, and I ask myself how I’m supposed to do this again. And again. And again.

One night a couple weeks ago I sat with Brian and cried, “How? How do I do this? I’ve had thirteen chemo treatments and feel this way. How is it going to be when it’s chemo number 25 or 50? I’ve been doing this for four months. How do I possibly do this for years?”

Because that is our reality, friends. We have no idea how long this will last. It’s the one question I am asked over and over. “When are you done?” And I have to shrug and tell y’all I don’t know. I am done when/if my cancer goes into remission (at which point I’ll go onto a maintenance dose) or when the cancer outsmarts the chemo I am on and we try a new drug until that one gets outsmarted or when Brian and I decide I can’t take it anymore and will risk fighting it fully naturally rather than integrated like we are.

This is our reality now. Our new normal is new chaos. Two weeks of chemo in a row, then a week off for who knows how long.

Only God knows.

Most days I find comfort in that. Some days I cannot find comfort at all. But I cling. We cling. And we live… we must cling and pray and fight and live. This is what we do.

This is our reality.

And today I am accepting it all over again. And again. And again.

4 responses to “Accepting Reality”

  1. So many are praying for you and your family. Thank you for sharing the fears and struggles as well as the joys.


  2. I so hate this for you and yours. May God have mercy and may His grace be over you.


  3. Thinking of you. Praying for you. Wish I could give you a hug and a cup of tea and sit with you for a while. Someday…


  4. melissa moslow Avatar
    melissa moslow

    You come to mind often. At the oddest times and quiet moments in the most ordinary seconds as I go about my life…and I say “Thank You, Jesus!” for bringing you to mind. And then I pray. Sometimes I know what to pray. Other times I just lift you before the throne in song or weeping or smiles or in the prayer the Spirit prays.
    You have become a piece in my life. In this puzzle I live. And you are a precious piece, Dear Angie! I love you!
    Be strong.
    Be weak.
    He’s GOT you. Either way.


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