Blessings at my feet

Last August, when we were on our post-chemo vacation that was gifted to us by some dear friends, I snapped a picture of my feet.

I know, I’m weird.

(I found the picture as I was organizing photos and trying to decide how to group photos into albums.  I miss the age of photography when this had to be decided every 24 pictures when the film roll was full.  I’m more than a little overwhelmed by the thousands of pictures on my hard drive.  Suggestions?)

Today, I looked down at my feet, and I see that I have flip flop tan lines.

Flip flop tan lines = happy, carefree days.

Seeing the picture of last year’s feet made me remember how high maintenance my feet were then.  Oddly, my feet were plagued with the most problematic side-effects during chemo last year.  I lost a toenail early on, after my first round of Adriamycin (chemo agent), so that toe lived under a band-aid for the whole summer.  Throughout my twenty weeks of chemo, I had 7-10 infections (like hang nails) that my weakened immune system couldn’t fight off, so I was on antibiotics for each of those infections.  I learned to call the doctor as soon as I felt the pain start, otherwise I was left at 3am with my foot awkwardly elevated above my heart in a desperate attempt to make the throbbing pain stop.  There were some days/weeks that I couldn’t run because my toes were too fragile.  But, for the most part, I put on bandaids and carried on with my day.

By the time our vacation rolled around, I had just finished 12 rounds of Taxol, a drug which is notorious for causing nail trouble.  Most days when we went to the beach, I put bandaids on all ten of my toes to try to keep my nails on in the surf.  (Band-aids + sand = bwwahahaha).  I would come back from the beach and soak my feet in hydrogen peroxide and use q-tips to clean the sand out.  I should have bought stock in band-aids.  I ended up losing four more toenails when it was all said and done.

It’s funny to think about all of that now.  It sounds like a lot of drama, but it didn’t feel like it at the time.  I was bald, after all, and that made my bathroom routine seem gloriously breezy and efficient.  Band-aids and beach just went hand in hand, and I knew that my toenails, and my hair, would recover.  Toenails and hair are not the good stuff in life.

I have so many fun family memories of that trip.  I am so grateful that I did not get sidelined by toe infections or baldness or awkwardness.  I would have missed Greta’s first steps in the ocean and Maren’s first boogie board rides.  We adapt, don’t we?  We shove aside what doesn’t matter to soul-search the things that do matter.

I am still running 1-3 times a week: I wear a compression sleeve on my left arm (where I had lymph nodes removed) to prevent my arm from swelling and feeling tight.  (Incidentally, I got my compression sleeves from a fantastic company called Lymphedivas; I highly recommend them if you are having lympedema (swelling) issues after surgery.  Their customer service was exceptional.)

I am swimming 1-5 times a week, depending on the weather and schedules: I wear a suit that covers up my chest and my port.  I think I would feel more self-conscious if I had time to think about it.  Usually, I’m too busy with my kids to think about body image; this, I know, is a great blessing.

All of my hats feel too small this summer because I have, you know, hair instead of just a bald head.

Things are different; there are always challenges and adaptations, but the sweetness is always right there too.

I see the picture of last year’s feet, and I don’t think about the drama/pain/issues.  I think: “Dang, look at that mama out there in the sand with her family.  Overcoming hardship often leads to a greater reward.  She’s having an awesome day!”

I look down at this year’s feet, and I think: “Wow, flip flop tan lines.  I am one lucky lady.  To count my blessings is to number the stars.”

There are a myriad of blessings that lay at my feet.  I must choose to see them for what they are.