Thursday, August 19, 2010


Two little twin girls were delivered early early this morning, waiting until Thursday to arrive.  I told the Cowgirl, maybe it was the nursery rhyme.  Wednesday's child, full of woe.  They wouldn't have that.  Not these girls.  Thursday's child?  Far to go.  That's more like it.

I think President and Vice-President sounds good.  How bout you?

Cowgirl sent me a photo in a text message, the two of them snuggled on her lap, in their hospital beanie's and wrapped in blankets like little papoose's.  Would that be papusi?  What a miracle.

Two.  Two girls.

In other news of miracles tonight, I put on an ironed apron.  With pens and wine key and crumber in my pocket, I cinched up my tie, shored up my resolve, and put on a red wig.  I walked in to my job, with a brain that felt it had been erased by chemo.  You ever not ice skate in a really really long time?  When you lace up those skates and step out onto the ice, you ever have that moment where you think you won't remember how to do it?

That was me tonight.  Whew.  So anxious.  As soon as I walked in the door, there I was, all of it waiting for me, and I was like a ballerina out on the rink.

It was a rather uneventful night as restaurant night's go, but so great to be back among my peeps, and opening wine, and watching fabulous plates go out, and do it all, in a red wig.

There was a moment, on the dining room floor, that I left my body and saw myself.  There I was, like a magician, the ultimate illusion.  My guests had no idea they were waited on tonight by a lady in the middle of chemo, bald head hidden underneath a layered red wig, a bullet hole in my chest, and an IV hidden under my crisp white shirt.

As I drove home tonight, I cried, just overwhelmed by taking back a piece of my life, and feeling as if I had accomplished something really big.

I am proud of myself.  It takes guts to do what I did tonight, smack dab in the middle of five months of chemo.  Hairless but fearless.

I took something back tonight.  Ripped it right out of cancer's grip.

I can't really articulate what it was, cause of chemo brain I guess, but can describe to you how it feels.

Strong like a mountain.  Weak in the knees like a teenager in love.  Joyful like Christmas morning.  Fragile like a newborn.

I might as well have run the Boston Marathon and crossed the finish line.

Out of breath, running so fast, towards my life.

1 comment:

Donna M said...

Thanks for the twin update...and two hands in the air kudos on your night back at the restaurant. I was thinking about you all evening. You continue to amaze. AND you posted!

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