A day early this week...

We cannot tell what may happen to us in the strange medley of life. But we can decide what happens in us -- how we can take it, what we do with it -- and that is what really counts in the end.   Joseph Fort Newton

I heard in a meeting last week that gratitude is a commitment, an attitude, an action. I've also heard gratitude referred to as a spiritual elevator. What I'll say about that is, sometimes I need to visit the basement before I can get back to my happy place.

I appreciate being allowed the space to cry, to yell, to be pissed off (and actually, it's "me, myself and I" that needed to give myself permission to be angry about my diagnosis). As always seems the case, my emotions simply want to be acknowledged. Upset? Throw a fit, punch a pillow, piss and moan, and... exhale. Funny how talking about it (fill in the blank with the "it" of the moment), writing about it, sharing in a meeting truly does take the power out of whatever I'm ruminating on. Oh, I'm not the only one? Ah, you say this is normal? Fine. Now we can move on.

Trusting the process has never been my forte. When new I'd yell, "F*** the process!" mostly because I had no idea what it meant to trust - to trust that life was unfolding, that there wasn't much I could do about it anyway, that I was not.in.charge. And something I've come to understand is that my circumstances may change, but it can take a while for my heart and soul to catch up with the new reality. Out of a job? Out of a relationship? Retired?  Diagnosed with cancer? Breathing, breathing, breathing...

I'm posting a day early, thinking that there are some who read this post who may be wondering about my Monday procedure. I'm here, a bit tired (though slept much of yesterday), doing my best to follow instructions.

I will say, that as a former Quality Assurance person at a small local hospital (my title was Director of Outcomes Management, if you can imagine such a thing for an alcoholic!), I was pleased with the safety-check prior to getting knocked out. The surgeon (who's penned initials are still on the surgery site) went over my stats, her intentions, then checked in with anesthesia, the assistant (who assured that all instruments were sterile and accounted for), and a couple of others I don't now recall. As I was going under, the anesthesia person whispered, "Think of a happy dream, Jeanine. We will take good care of you" - pleasant to contemplate in the seconds before I went unconscious.

And so, here I am, sitting upright, with a planned walk at my husband's side later today, per post-op orders. He's back to work tomorrow and has asked that I put together a "just in case" list of people who live nearby. I've done so, but for the life of me, can't imagine what kind of help I'll need. A trusted other actually suggested that he contact my sponsor to rattle my cage about accepting help! That wasn't necessary, but I am taking a look at my self-reliance - not a bad thing, in and of itself, and... not a bad thing to be realistic about my abilities, especially when there is likely still some sedation in my system!

Is it tough or easy for you to ask for help? How about giving assistance to others (I, for one, am much better at that). How do you relax into resting when you're more accustomed to "busy"?  

See you next Wednesday... And thank you for all the positive energy and good wishes across the miles, stated or silent.