I’ve been at a loss lately regarding the blog. I absolutely love doing it and my intention is to continue, however, for the first time since it began, I’m not sure what to write about. I’m stumped, out of ideas. Is it possible my well has run dry after less than three months?
Initially, I had lots to say about cancer, so I used the blog to say it. I told stories of how it all played out, how it affected me, not just individually, but as a wife and mother. I knew few people like me. I personally knew very few survivors and even fewer that I could share the load which was crowding my head, forcing me to think of nothing else. I loved blogging for giving me a chance to unload all that cargo I was carrying around.
I had a million ideas to share and once I did, I discovered something very freeing. Cancer no longer held a steel grip on my daily thoughts. What was once a brain overrun with my breast cancer experience was now able to give due to life’s other moments.
Interesting stuff, but now what? Where does that leave me? Have I said all I have to say about life with breast cancer?
I don’t know. I have declared myself a breast cancer blogger, but could I write about other things? What else do I even know and would my new breast cancer blogging friends care to read it? Would they want to know about the trials and tribulations of getting my son to the potty in time? Or question, as I do, why ten minutes isn’t long enough for a 4-year old to put on mittens? Will they wonder along with me if my dog, Goliath, purposely waits until he’s alone to pee on the floor?
This is the kind of stuff that consumes much of my days. Would anyone reading want to know about it? Probably not and I don’t blame them. I doubt they’re looking for a mommy blogger and I have no desire to be one. I like writing about motherhood, but only from the perspective of a mom with breast cancer. To me, that’s much more intriguing. Lucky for me.
I had been pondering these many questions when I realized something about yesterday. I went to see my primary care doctor. Just a regular old visit simply because of a cold I couldn’t shake. I hadn’t seen a doctor for something so normal in years. The thing is, I should have gone three weeks ago when a raspy cough first started to linger. But I didn’t. I didn’t, because I was positive I’d hear bad news which would ruin the holidays for everyone, at the very least, me. Why take that chance? I’d already had one vacation ruined with the pronouncement of bad news. I couldn’t let that happen again.
Thanks to my sharp internet research I knew all the potential ailments a persisting cough might indicate and it wasn’t pretty. I managed to talk myself into every horrible symptom I came across. Finally, I resolved to face my fear and get it over with. This was a turning point day. Fine or not fine, just like the day back in 2009 when I was waiting for biopsy results. Which way would it go?
The thing is, it was simply a cold gone bad. A prescription for antibiotics and I was out the door. I never should have obsessed about it this way, but as a breast cancer survivor I’m conditioned to turn everything into drama. Things can go wrong, turn out badly, but sometimes things are just what they seem and every once in a while, might actually turn out well. I still need to retrieve that frame of mind. And here I was convinced I didn’t have anything left to write about.