I’ve mentioned here before that my mom is Australian. Her whole side of the family lives Down Under. My grandmother, four sets of aunts and uncles, and eight cousins live there. Brad and I got married in 2003, but our wedding “season” wasn’t over for another eighteen months, because that was when we went to Australia together so that he could meet the rest of the family.
There are a lot of miles between us, but no distance at all. We are a close family.
For the past several years, I have been saving money. Steadily, hopefully, patiently. It’s important to me that my girls feel the connection to our Australian family the way that I do. My parents worked really, really hard to allow us to know the Aussie family and travel there. All of the Aussies have likewise made trips here, also. It is important to me that Maren and Greta know the family, the love, that is on the other side of the world. There are a whole bunch of crazy-awesome people over there who love us fiercely.
We are supposed to be there, in Australia, right now. I used the hard-saved money and I booked flights in January so that Greta could meet her great-grandmother.
I haven’t allowed cancer to take much away from me. One thing that did get taken away with my diagnosis, though, is our trip to Australia. I had to cancel airplane tickets because I got cancer, and I have to stay here while I am undergoing treatment. It is a kick in the gut. It’s not just me: it’s a kick for everyone who was anticipating our visit. It’s like canceling the really big Christmas that only happens once every few years when everyone is together.
Honestly? The whole cancelled-trip-to-Australia thing is painful. I’m really, really sad for me, for Maren and Greta, and for my grandmother and all our relatives there. It’s not about the exotic and wonderful country, or sight-seeing, or vacation. It’s the family and laughter and togetherness. We just happen to have to travel thousands of miles to get it.
I am hopeful that I will get to plan another trip. I am good at being patient, and at saving, and at loving across the miles. But. I am still sad.
Instead of being in Australia, tomorrow is chemo day. Since cancer is what is standing between me and Australia and the rest of my life (literally!), there is no place I would rather be tomorrow than in the Chemo Room. I’m getting busy killing cancer so I can get on with the rest of my life! I have things to do and places to go and people to love.
Tomorrow is Chemo #14 of 16. We are nearing the end of the treatment cycle, and I admit I have both a “yay” and a “yikes” feeling about it. I am looking forward to getting some energy back and getting rid of the side effects, but I will also miss the security of knowing that the cancer is being ravaged by chemo drugs.
Here’s how you can pray for me tomorrow:
-For obliteration of the cancer/tumor(s)
-For rest, as the side effect of fatigue/exhaustion is intense
-For my toe(s); I’ve been fighting an infection
-For the conversations I will have in the oncology office and chemo room
-For my mom, who should be in Australia with us, but who is recovering from her surgery instead. And for the rest of my relatives who have been so supportive.
Thank you for your prayers and for linking arms with me! I’ll be reading comments and emails tomorrow in the Chemo Room.