It’s too early for the plan post. That’ll show up Tuesday. Ish.
I’ve spent three nights in the hospital, mostly coming to terms with physical pain, and learning how to type with a blood oxygen monitor taped to my third finger. While I’ve been here,this silent group of ninjas have been working behind the scenes.
The first time around, I had no idea what to do, so being, me, I searched out my own support network. I had my treatment group on YSC, the Moxies, brave brave girls who all got cancer way too young and many of whom are gone too soon. I had my mothers with cancer, where losses have also been devastating. I had my knitting groups, wickedly smart women who to this day make me laugh on Facebook although I don’t make it to too many knit nights. My church. Family and friends who would just sit with me because I couldn’t do anything else. Moms and dads who would take my kids on a moments notice, family members who drove me to way too many doctors appointments. Planinas who gave me the gift of music when i thought the world was ending. And now all these people, and including, my Stott family, my Shelton Family, my Monterey Family, my neighborhood and I’m sure other families I’m forgetting have been stepping up, offering help while I’ve been in here as if no time has passed. As if I haven’t missed 1800 knit nights. Or it hasn’t been 20 years since high school. Or last week since rehearsal.
I am not ok. I have a ways to go. Still need the Plan.
But I am a Moxie.
And so are you. You are my Moxie Ninjas. (unless you are an original Moxie, in which case you can choose.)
You help me to know that no matter what the Plan ends up being, it’s going to be ok.
(Heartfeltblog post tip#2. Take the oxygen hose out of your nose if you’re going to cry. It’s drippy and messy.)
And yes. That’s the oxygen monitor that is going to go off now because I took off the hose. And the fact that it’s on my middle finger does not escape me. Take that bone mets.
I’m a Moxie.