It’s been a while.
Here’s something I wrote at Glow In the Woods.
I didn’t really finish the post there. The odds got me again. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. For fuck’s sake. It’s never enough.
The doctors have been quick to assure me that this is the good kind of breast cancer. Ok. Sure. We’ll see how that goes, says my inner cynic. The one who knows the odds and how they work.
I was supposed to have surgery tomorrow, but then after three years of dodging it – the incredibly contagious virus that the odds said I should’ve already had – I finally caught Covid and my surgery is delayed.
I like in bed at night trying not to imagine the tumour growing.
Send good thoughts, please. If you’re reading. I think things will be ok, but those of you reading here will know: the odds are real motherfuckers.
March is for daffodils... 
Jen, I am reading and I hate this. I hate what you’re having to go through. I am so sorry. The odds! Bitter, horrific, unkind, unfair odds!
And Covid, right now, when you need it to NOT be now. On top of everything!
I just hate that you’re having to go through it. I have an image of you slogging through a hurricane, lashed with rain and forceful winds. I want to link arms and bring others to link arms. If only we could get you out of here and the storm would back off.
Every good thought I have, I send to you. And every prayer I have, I send too.
I care and I truly will pray. I also hope that doesn’t make you feel worse. I understand if it does. As if you have not begged for relief and answers that never came, as if you don’t already know that prayers do not equal some easy fix.
My heart is heavy for you this morning. THANK YOU for sharing what you are going through. Not that I don’t hate your having to live through it — that is the worst.
But I definitely want to know when you are being hit like this. I definitely want to know and I am here pulling for you with everything I can think of. Stupid cancer and stupid odds. They really do not play fair at all.
Cathy in Missouri
Thank you for caring so much about this, Cathy, and for all your good thoughts and prayers. I’ve been feeling pretty depressed, so I need and appreciate them.
You’ve stayed on my mind and I’ve continued to pray for you as you walk forward in this very unwelcome process. No wonder you feel depressed — it’s such a hard time.
I also thought of you the other day when I heard that Gordon Lightfoot died. You were the one who mentioned one of his songs (Sundown, I think) in a blog post and “gave” him back to me. I hadn’t heard that song since my childhood and had forgotten all about it until you wrote. I always think of you when I play his songs around the house.
I was looking around your blog for an email so that I could let you know I’m thinking of you without clogging up your comments. Didn’t find an address — if you want to write me and share one, I think my address comes to you with the comments, anyway. Either way — you are being thought of very often here.
Love from Missouri,
Cathy
Cathy, I read this comment the day you wrote it from the waiting room pre-lumpectomy and I have intended to reply to it ever since then. It was really kind of an amazing feeling to read your thoughts and your memories of M’s love for “Sundown” and to think about the incredible power of relationship and care in these online spaces while I waited in such a stark physical space for such a very physical process. What a gift. If you want to email you can use jen[dot]douglas[at]gmail.com. xo
The odds. Always 100%or 0%.
I read your piece at glow. If you want to know about the hope I’ve found take some time to watch The Chosen for free on angel.com or check out livingWaters.com and if you want to know more I’d be happy to talk.
Much love to you as you navigate these new odds.
Always remembering baby cheeses.
Love from Em
Aww, baby cheeses. It makes me happy to hear that nickname. Thanks, Em. ❤