It felt wonderful to celebrate our family’s belated Seder, yesterday, all together, via Zoom. (Happily, Will and I had enjoyed connecting, via FaceTime, with my sister, Lauren’s family for the first Seder, celebrated in the Midwest, last week.)
Our family chose to wait to celebrate the holiday, together, until
Our grandsons, Tony and Ray, arrived home from their father’s house
And my meaning is clear when differentiating home from house based in
This reality: The boys’ sense of emotional safety does not
Feel at home with their father, because
Rather than taking heartfelt care to respect their needs
This man bullies both into fearing his overbearing presence whenever
This innocent pair of children are supposedly within his ‘care’.
Home is where the heart feels so personally loved as to feel deeply secure
As memories tasting of bitter herbs arise within my mind whenever
Thoughts of this hard hearted man are expressed, in the interest of
Perpetuating my aura of serenity, let’s wisely switch tracks, right now ...
Except for days when bursts of steroids are flowing through my bloodstream, I actually feel too weary to converse, pretty much 24/7. And for those of you who know my loquaciousness, that’s saying a lot! So wearied do I feel as to initiate cyber play dates with Ravi via FaceTime only once a week. As long as I place no expectations upon myself, fatigue is not worrisome as everything I hope to do is either accomplished good-naturedly by Will or will remain undone until such time as my lack of mental and physical energy refuels once infusions of chemo, followed by surgery, are history.
So far, thank goodness, this third protocol remains unchanged. I’ve been cautioned to note that the effects of multiple treatments of any chemo protocol become cumulative, over time, so perhaps that answers why fatigue has been deepening.
Each time I’m infused with chemo, steroids are transfused via my port in addition to a burst of steroids, taken by mouth, before every other infusion of chemo, so while my body must somehow handle different combinations of drugs traveling through my bloodstream, my think tank, feeling foggy, can’t hold onto thoughts that prove mindful with anything resembling clarity as though my brain has a leak that my inner plumber has not yet located.
As anything requiring planning or conversation has not happened for quite some time, my aura of peacefulness is maintained by gifting myself with lots of slack whenever I’d not thought to do something that’s slipped through the cracks of the fuzzy state of my conscious awareness.
When it comes to writing, the intuitive portion of my brain takes the lead, meaning that my conscious mind has little awareness of what is being conveyed until every word, having been penned, one by one, has poured forth so naturally from with the depths of my soul as if to expose a host of heartfelt vulnerabilities, which my defense system, doing its job, blocks my conscious mind from acknowledging until the writing is done, and I read what I actually feel, deep within my core.
Today’s post exemplifies the expression of emotional reactions that my power of intuitive thought chose to expose, first to me before sending this insight driven train of thought to you. And as my first train of thought pulls into a rest station, here comes another that’s certain to ignite my spirit’s smile:
Yesterday, our belated Seder with extended family via Zoom, felt wonderful. Thank goodness, our sons planned everything out, so all I had to do was to awaken from a lengthy snooze in time to groom and show up to thoroughly enjoy everyone’s company—as was especially true when my sister, Lauren’s two year old grandson decided to contemplate his belly button—actually, on second thought, my think tank did manage to preplan one helpful addition, leading toward our seder’s success—I’d ordered Haggadahs from Amazon, which were sent to each family so that during our Seder, all were literally on the same page, and then there were wind up frogs, flipping over, jumping here and there, which had also been delivered to our grandchildren , though I’d felt gouged, being that each of these same small plastics gizmos, which had cost me $4.00, apiece, last year, has risen to $10.00, dung that, during the pandemic, local retailers are closed. Sooo, whose eyes, other than those of an adoring Gramma, would close to the bighjacked price of entertaining precious kinderlach!
If Gramma’s cheeks look chipmunk-like that’s thanks to
Steroids accompanying chemo🙋🏻♀️🌈🌻
Annie 🙋🏻♀️❤️🌈🌻
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