It's almost Christmas, but it's hard to feel festive with this dark cloud hanging over my head. Everyone here is in such a somber mood. I'm trying to "stay positive," I really am. The best I can do for now is just be realistic, with a hopeful slant. I'm reminded of an Emily Dickinson poem, "Hope" is the thing with feathers - / That perches in the soul - / And sings the tune without the words - / And never stops - at all -" I'll think about birds taking a piece of my despair and flying away, one by one, until there is no despair left. Only hope.
My husband is taking a different approach; that is, he is using humor as a coping mechanism. I don't fault him for it, though, because everyone copes in different ways. My mother makes me drink either one home-made kale/blueberry or spinach/banana juice per day. My older sister reads informative books on breast cancer survival. My husband uses humor.
For instance, he has been going around saying, "Merry Breastmas!" and "Her2neu Year!" He calls this cancer a "nega-pregnancy" and jokes that we're expecting the arrival of a "3-inch tumor" in 18 weeks, when I have my surgery done. He wants to have a "chemo shower" (kind of like a baby shower, I suppose) before I start my treatments. A part of me feels like this is a little inappropriate, given the subject matter, but it makes me laugh and it makes him feel good to see me laugh. I can't fault him for that.
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