Good Enough Right Now

This is the radiation machine — on its side, waiting.

One reason I don’t like using the term “battle” around long-term or dangerous illnesses is the military aspect — though I respect those who opt to serve their country in the armed forces, my own choices involve a daily shaping of getting acquainted, respecting, and sometimes walking away from what can’t fit my soul.

“Battle” also divides the process into winners and losers. I don’t want to “lose the battle” with some malfunction of my own body. When breast cancer stepped into my daily life, I made a point of “forgiving” the tissue cells for making a mistake in their programming. I wanted my own normal sense of safety back. But I wasn’t going to aim firearms or other explosives at my own chest, my heart, my core.

My “Darn Tough” wool socks, for the journey.

So I talk instead about the breast cancer journey. I’m about four years into mine, since the second set of “films” and tiny diagnostic sample said the nodule of cells was malignant. Despite the initial terror — it’s more than fear, it’s terror, that life could become all about pain and dying! — I mostly have experienced extraordinary support. It comes from doctors, nurses, radiation therapists, and others dealing themselves with body tissue that’s gone off the rails. It hasn’t felt like warfare. It’s felt…