Holding Space

With Shelly Vaughn


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Two bags of trash

Two bags of trash- seems like no big deal but it was SO emotional. (I wonder how it feels for other people who aren’t so sentimental about every little thing in life.😆).

These bags are the last round of my “cancer stuff” that I’ve held onto. The “essentials” from surgeries and treatment that I haven’t gotten rid of yet. In trying to explain to Rob, I realized that this seemed important enough to include on this page- and so I’ll share…

These two bags are filled with the medical things that helped me through cancer treatments- the expired numbing cream to go on my port each time they accessed it for treatment; the wraps to keep the bags of ice on my hands during chemo treatments to minimize neuropathy; the “drain apron” that was essential to hold the drains post-surgery; the bandages and binders to help hold my body together as it healed. These items were valuable to me along the way, and holding onto them has made me feel prepared for the “what if…”

I’ve always thought that part of the PTSD aspect of my experience was that it was so sudden and unexpected at my age. And I wonder how differently (if at all) it would have felt to go through it when women are “supposed to”- more like in my 50s or 60s. I wonder if it wouldn’t have been so traumatic if it was more expected and I was more prepared.

It makes me think of the wave that knocks you over in the ocean: when you’re facing it and watch it get closer to you, you are ready for the hit no matter how hard it comes. You bend your knees and you either dig your toes into the sand to stand firm; or you time a jump just right so that you can ride it out with a little grace. It doesn’t seem so bad when you are ready and face it head-on.

When you’re not expecting it- that’s when the wave knocks you over completely. That’s when you face plant and get a mouth full of saltwater. And you get all turned around and disoriented for a minute, not knowing what happened or where it came from.

I pray every day that I don’t get hit by another wave. I feel guilt because my mom didn’t recover from her wave. And the recent anniversary of the day Amy went to heaven reminds me that it can be even more unexpected than my own hit.

Subconsciously, but not too far down to retrieve the thoughts when I need them, I know I’ve hung onto this stuff just in case. Today, in a moment of freedom and excitement and worry and guilt and fear and peace… I let them go. ❤️