Last chemo, baby! It feels good to know this will soon be behind me. I know I will need to recover from this treatment, so I’m not out of the woods yet. But I don’t have to come here for chemo again and that feels great!

I shared time in the treatment room with the true warrior and another woman. The new woman showed up right after the true warrior left. She was a beautiful black woman, slightly younger than me, with Stage IV ovarian cancer. She was there for her fourth of eight treatments and it was a struggle for her. It was very hard to watch. The nurses here are outstanding but they had to move her IV three or four times, and this woman hates needles. But they were finally able to get things worked out for her and she was finished before me.

It felt wonderful to finish the chemo. Everyone at the clinic was so excited for me. They knew it was my last chemo and helped me celebrate by cheering and congratulating me.

The armor was ready, and I thank each of you for repairing not only my armor but also my mind, spirit, and emotions.

I wore my Warrior shirt yesterday to help me remember that that is part of who I am: a warrior ready for battle. The battle is not over yet – we still have many more to face. But for now I can recover and tend to the wounds of this last chemo war.

It is the day after chemo now. Back to the clinic for my Neulasta injection and an appointment with my Survivorship counselor.

This day has been hard. I have been dizzy and tired most of the day. I really do not feel like eating, but I am trying. Lorene is here taking excellent care of my animals and me. She has made this journey so much easier for me. I am so blessed to have her and so many other amazing people in my life.

I will make it through this recovery period and then we will celebrate. We will have a “We Kicked Chemo in the Ass” party and I hope all of you will be able to make it, either in person or in spirit.

Love to all of you. I need to rest now. But I’m really looking forward to a great party!!!!!!

Tomorrow is my last chemo treatment. I am trying to figure out how I can be so excited yet dreading the same event. For some reason, I feel like the two emotions are totally disconnected from each other, yet I am feeling them both at the same time.

I was thinking today how my attitude has changed since the start of chemo. In the beginning, I felt totally in control. I decided when to shave my head instead of letting the chemo decide when it should fall out. But as the process has continued, I do not feel in control. I feel just like my friend Sandy said she felt when she walked this road. She felt like she was put on a conveyor belt and just rode it till they dropped her off at the end.

That is a little bit how I feel. Just riding the belt waiting for it to end. I am excited about finishing chemo tomorrow but I know that is not the end. There will be radiation and hormone treatment after chemo. The radiation will be five days a week for six weeks but the hormone treatment will go on for the next 10 years. Yes, you heard me: the next 10 years. Even though it is a pill that you take, it will be a constant reminder of this battle.

I was talking to Lorene and Sylvia tonight and I told them I cannot image what it must be like to hear the words “your cancer has returned.”  I am not projecting, just thinking. When I was struggling with making the decision about a lumpectomy or a mastectomy, I talked to my dear friend Holly. I told her I was afraid that by choosing the lumpectomy I would always fear that the cancer would come back. She chose to have the mastectomy and she said she did not think it would matter which one I chose; for her, the thought is always in the back of her mind. I think that will be true for me also. I will not live my life in fear – not by any means. I am going to live my life and enjoy my life to the fullest.

Life really is just a precious gift. None of us knows what will happen tomorrow, or in the next second, for that matter. I am fortunate to be alive right now. You are probably like me – you look back at some of the crazy things you did when you were a kid and think, It is a wonder that I’m still here. Then I think about my life before I got sober and again I am truly grateful to be alive.

So I hope I will be able to take the lessons I am learning now and continue to go forward with my new life.  A life that is full of an awareness I have never known before. A life where I remember how precious life truly is and how beautiful this world is.

It is strange, but since the very beginning of this journey I have felt like I am in the right place at the right time, and surrounded by just the right people. By “the right people” I mean all of you who are supporting me by reading this blog. The people at my job who have sent me food and donated leave to me. My wonderful friends (more like family) Sylvia, Lorene, Cheryl, and Kim, who have taken such good care of me. My beautiful friend Diane, who has encouraged me and supported me by editing these posts. My cancer survivor sisters – Nancy Pat, Sandy, Mary Dee, and Holly – who have already fought this battle and shared their stories with me. My sister Martha Gail, my mom, dad, brother-in-law, and nephews, and their families, who have given me the support I have needed to keep battling. All the fellow warriors I have met during treatment and whom I have had the honor of traveling with on this road. It is unbelievable how much support I have had during this time in my life. Thank you all.

I really like this quote and want to share it with you:

       “A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.”   – Lao Tzu

This is how I want to spend my life, because this is what we all are – travelers. We are so lucky to get to be here, to be alive, and all we have to do is show up for our lives. That is what it is time for me to do: show up and be ready for what comes next on this journey.

Thanks to all of you for preparing the armor for me. It is sitting on the chair, shiny and in excellent repair. I think it looks better than ever. I will don the armor in the morning and will be ready for battle. I am ready – mind, body, and spirit. Here we go.

Charge!

Well, it finally happened. I broke down tonight. Tears and sobbing and not able to stop.

I have tried to be strong. I have tried to keep going, but I am totally exhausted. This week has been so hard for me. I have tried to make it through without asking for help. But when Lorene came for a visit today, I just lost it. I feel like so many people have already done so much for me that I hate not being able to take care of myself.

One of the cancer warriors told me her husband asked her, “Do I have to do everything?” She told me, “I just looked at him and said yes.”  She is the warrior who has talked to me about her fatigue and her legs being so weak. At the beginning I did not understand what she was talking about, but now I totally understand. I am right there with her. I feel like I only have enough energy to get from one day to the next. Caring for my animals, the house, or the yard is more than I can handle right now. So even though it is hard for me, I have called in the cavalry to help me make it through until I can get my strength back.

I can be very hard-headed sometimes. My daddy likes to tell a story about helping me with my spelling homework when I was a kid. He would give me a word to spell and I would just sit there. “Melissa, spell cat.”  I would just sit there. “Melissa, just say something ,even if it is wrong.” And still, I would just sit there.

My mom tells a story of picking me up from school when I was in the first grade and my teacher informing her that she thought I might be developmentally disabled (which is not the actual term that was used when I was a kid). My mom freaked and took me right to the family doctor. After spending some time with me, he told my mom that the only thing wrong with me was that I was stubborn as hell.  So, like I said, I’m hard-headed, independent, and stubborn.

I think I should be able to do everything by myself. I have lived my entire life that way. I have lived my life taking care of others. I spent a huge part of my childhood taking care of the emotional needs of some of the adults in my life. I am the one who tries to make things better for others, even at the expense of my own needs. It is hard for me to ask for help. But tonight I reached my breaking point. I need help.

And the beauty of it is, the help has been here all the time. I just needed to admit to myself that I am not Wonder Woman (I know that will come as a surprise to some of you, but it is true) and to ask my beautiful friends for help.

I can already feel a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders. I feel that with all of your help, I will make it to the other side of this battle. I can see the armor is in good repair, shining beautifully and ready for my battle on Tuesday.

Thank you all – I love each and every one of you.

It is early Wednesday morning and I cannot sleep. This is the way it has been for several days now: My body is so tired but my mind just cannot rest. I am not sure why. On the inside, I feel so empty and alone. I have tried and tried to think of something to write – something that will make you smile or laugh. But I have nothing.

I don’t feel much like a cube anymore – really just don’t feel like much of anything. This battle is getting old and my spirit is tired. I try not to complain because I am so sure that everyone is tired of hearing it. It still shocks me, though, to be so tired from doing simple little things. Just walking outside and feeding the goats is now a chore for me. I am tired before I can even get the gate closed and walk back up the stairs to the house. I know the fatigue will not last forever but for the moment it is unsettling.

I try to think of some wisdom to learn from all of this, something to take with me after this chemo battle is over. Right now, though, I really am not able to even pull from that wise old soul of mine. I feel a little locked off from myself. I usually spend a lot of time thinking in depth about life, love, and nature. I also spend lots of time marveling at the beauty that surrounds me – the wonder of this world and all the living things that surround me. But even that seems distant to me now.

I am just so focused on getting through the last chemo next Tuesday, and the recovery from it, that I seem to be in another world. It’s almost like I have blinders on and am just able to focus on that one point. I realized that today when I was driving into town, and I saw several birds in a ditch. They were all bathing in the puddles that have collected from all the rain. It looked like they were have a ball and it made me smile. Wow–just being there in that very moment, just watching those birds, made me realize that I have been sleepwalking through these last few weeks. I know that I am doing what I can at this time but it makes me sad, because just concentrating on surviving is not living for me.

I have thought a lot about this time of my life. I have heard others with cancer question why. Why me?  Well, I have not felt that way. Maybe it is my 12-step program background that helps. You have no idea how many time over the years I have heard someone say, “Why me?” And then someone with years of recovery will say, “Why not you?”

I get that. I just think things happen. Bad things happen to good people; it is just part of living. Life is hard and sometimes life isn’t fair. But I am grateful to be here and to have the life I have.

So just because I have not asked, “Why me?” does not mean I am not angry, because I am. My life has changed, and not in any way I had planned. I am angry because of the disruption in my life, I am angry because it feels like my life is on hold while I fight this battle, and I am angry because my body and mind do not feel like they belong to me anymore.

Do you remember that part in the movie Steel Magnolias when Sally Field loses it after her daughter’s funeral?  That is how I feel. I want to hit someone. I know that I am very blessed because just like in the movie, I am surround by wonderful, supportive friends and family. But I really do wish I could hit someone – I think it would make me feel better. Any volunteers????

Love you all!

Waiting, waiting, waiting.  I just keep waiting to feel human again.  It has been 10-11 days since the last chemo and I’m still not feeling human.  I thought I had this chemo bit down: chemo on Tuesday and start feeling better on the following Sunday night. Even better on Monday, then human on Tuesday.

So that is what I expected this time, but no.  It has been one thing after another.  Chemo on Tuesday. Neulasta injection on Wednesday. Back to the doctor a week after chemo.  On the Tuesday after chemo my WBC count was low – Neupogen injection. Saw the doc again on Wednesday, and my WBC count was normal.

Thursday I broke out with the worst poison ivy ever, and also had an allergic reaction to hand sanitizers. My hands were itchy, hot, and swollen.  On Friday I started having severe pains under my right rib cage and now, at 12:32 am Saturday morning, I’m in the ER, waiting to find out what the hell is happening with me.  I have my two faithful friends Sylvia and Lorene here with me.  I know they are ready to kill me but they sit here patiently, giving me care and comfort.

I am not one to cry with physical pain, but this time I was in tears.  I am sure some of it was fear but a lot of it was just from the pain.  I finally decided around 10 p.m. Friday that I just could not take it anymore.  I had tried Tums, Rolaids, and Maalox.  Each time it would help for a bit but then the pain would come back worse than before.  When you have chemo you have no idea what those drugs might be doing to your body, so just to be safe, off to the emergency room the three of us went.

They dropped me off at the emergency room and went to park the cars. I walked in and thought, Well, we will be here all night. The place was packed. But since I was having chest pains they took me right back.  I was back and in a room before Sylvia and Lorene even made it back from parking.  I felt a little guilty for being taken back before the other people, but not really that guilty.

I had the usual EKG, which came back normal.  I really did not think it was my heart but I guess it is best to rule that out first.  Next came the blood work and urine sample followed by a chest x-ray.  Chest x-ray was good – no pneumonia.  Questions came up with the blood work.  The blood test indicated that the heart was okay but one test came back high so the doctor was concerned about a blood clot in the lungs.  He said that is one thing that concerns him when someone is on chemo.  He left and I looked at Lorene and Sylvia and said, “Did he just say blood clot?”  I could tell Sylvia was concerned but the voice of reason (which is Lorene) said, “It is not a blood clot; we know that it is your esophagus.”  Okay – so she settled us all down, but I know it is something all of us are concerned about now.

So between the fear and the pain, I finally decided to let them give me some morphine.  I have no idea why I kept resisting.  The doctor had ordered it but I like to pretend I am tough, so I resisted.  The nurse came in to give me the morphine and asked, “What is your pain level on a scale of 0-10?” Again trying to be tough, I said, “about 7.”  She gave me the injection, then asked again about my pain level. I said, “What pain?”

Sylvia asked me a question and all I could say was, “Your hair looks really pretty.” Even though I was out of it I could hear Sylvia and Lorene laughing because now I was smiling.  Damn straight I’m smiling – this is some good stuff.  And they are laughing again because I am mumbling something about taking some of it home.

So next I am off for a CAT scan to check for blood clots. Guess what? It was clear also. Okay, now we are narrowing it down.  Maybe the gall bladder – so an ultrasound is done and we rule out the gall bladder. So now it is 5 or 6 a.m. on Saturday morning.  The doctor says it is the esophagus or stomach, probably inflamed and irritated from all the chemo.  Drugs prescribed and another injection of morphine given, we are finally able to go home.

I am relieved to know it is something that can be controlled with medication and even more relieved not to be in pain.  A little embarrassed that I dragged Sylvia and Lorene to the ER with me, but very grateful for their kindness and support.

It is getting to be time now to prepare for the next battle.  The last battle with chemo is just a little over a week away.  I am writing the last of this post on July 21st.  My next chemo is on July 30th.  I know it seems like a long time, but it is not.  It will be the last and the hardest battle.  The fatigue from chemo is not the same after each treatment; it is cumulative.  But I will be ready.  Dressed in the armor that all of you have polished and shined for me.  I will be ready.  I have to be ready.

You see, this time I might be someone else’s chemo hero.  Just like the one I needed to see during my first chemo.  So on that day, I will walk in with my head held high, like I own the place.  My armor will be fitted perfectly and I will smile while facing this enemy on this battlefield for the last time.

As you know from yesterday’s post, this round of chemo has taken its toll.  I have not felt as good today as I was hoping to – the fatigue is still here and the nausea finally caught up with me.  I was able to eat some cheese toast a few minutes ago and I think I might be starting to feel better.

When I am in these physical downspins, my mind is at its best (I really should say “worst,” because it can truly be my worst enemy).  One time, I had a very special person say to me, “Melissa, your mind is like a bad neighborhood – you should never go in there alone.”  So that is what I mean – my mind basically has a mind of its own.  It can really brew some things up if I am not available to at least rein it in every now and then.

I know some of you get concerned when my writings begin to turn a little darker.  I understand your concern but I have to allow these issues to come out.  If I just stuff things away and never mention them, they are still there.  But it is extremely important for me to open these things up – expose them to the light and then watch them lose their power.  So with all that said, let me tell you what I have been feeling like today.

Nothing. That’s it – nothing.  I don’t feel alive but I know I am.  I am breathing, seeing, sensing, and talking with friends.  My house has been full of wonderful and supportive people today – Lorene, Sylvia, and Cheryl.  Kim, Steve, and Chris came over to update the goat shed. I got to spend some time talking to my friend Janet today and hearing her voice is good medicine also. It has been an amazing day and I am grateful for all the love and support, but inside I feel nothing. I so look forward to at least feeling something.

When I was falling asleep earlier today, I thought of my body as a cube.  If you took my head, shoulders and body to about my waist that is what it feels like: a cube.  A cube where you can snap off the legs and put the cube wherever you like.  Just sit it there – no feeling – no emotion – just there.  The world spins around it and life goes on, but the cube just sits there.

And that is really how my life feels right now.  Just waiting to get through with all of these damn treatments.  I think about doing something or going somewhere and then I remember – no, wait – finish chemo, then radiation.  This is not at all how I thought this year of my life would be – but it is what it is.  I will do what must be done. I will wait. I will put this all behind me, then take a big, deep breath of the cool fall air.

Unbelievable!  This treatment has really thrown me for a loop. The extra anti-nausea med that I was given on Tuesday really helped; I have not been sick and I have actually been able to eat. This is the first time Lorene and Sylvia have not had to force me to eat. So that part is good but the fatigue is much worse than before – I have slept almost continuously since Thursday.

Walking from one room to the next really becomes a chore. For someone like me who has always been fairly active, this feeling is very disconcerting. I have run a marathon, completed a half-ironman and participated in hundreds of other running and biking events, so to be out of breath after walking from one room to the next is a little unsettling. My legs get weak, I feel light headed, I have a hard time catching my breath, and all I really want to do is sit down. Just typing this is hard because my arms are so fatigued.  Needless to say, I am physically tired, but mentally I am also so tired of feeling this way. I know this is just the process, but it is getting harder each time.

To tell you the truth, I do not even know where my armor is today. I came home from chemo, threw it off, and have been raw and exposed ever since. It is probably laying crumpled in a corner somewhere and will need lots of tending to before the next battle. Armor is good for battle but sometimes it is good to be uncovered and exposed. It is during these times that I am reminded of how much love and support surrounds me. That is what gives me the strength for the next battle, the next time the armor must be worn to face this faceless enemy.

While I am going through this journey, I have met another warrior who has Stage IV breast cancer. It is scary to even write those words, much less think about what it must feel like to be facing that diagnosis. I am brought to tears almost every time I think about it. She is alone, without the support of family and friends. She is on an experimental drug – one last chance, and the thought scares me to death.

I feel truly blessed not only because I caught this cancer early, but also because I have all of you. It is a comfort and a blessing. I will fight on – I will not let you down. But as you are holding me up and sending good thoughts my way, please pray for everyone else who is facing this demon.

Love you all.

I had my third chemo treatment yesterday. The armor was severely damaged by the time the treatment was over. I got through the treatment because I shared the treatment room with two wonderful breast cancer warriors. I had met both of these beautiful women before and it was so calming and comforting to be there with them. We laughed and shared a lot. One I have mentioned to you before: the true warrior, the one with the children and grandchildren, who told me she has too much to live for. She was getting an additional injection to help with one of the side effects (osteoporosis) and the nurse asked her to read the possible side effects. She read some of them out loud to us and said, “This is why I never read these things. They scare you to death.” I totally agree with her. If you read those inserts, you will run away screaming and never look back. The true warrior said, “I think I would rather have osteoporosis than any of these side effects.”

It’s funny how the conversation changes when you are with other cancer warriors. You talk about triple negative or triple positive, lymph node involvement, radiation (how many treatments), and you never have to explain anything. We have all educated ourselves and it has changed us and changed our language. I really enjoy spending time with these women; it gives me strength to continue this battle. The true warrior is ahead of us in her treatment regimen. She has finished chemo and started radiation. She informed us that after chemo, radiation is a breeze. She has completed 12 of 36 radiation treatments – one-third of the way done. The other cancer warrior and I are on the same schedule. She and I have one more treatment, then the 36 radiation treatments. It will be an honor to walk through this part of the journey with her.

This third treatment has been the most difficult so far. The fatigue is almost overwhelming and the chemo brain is really bad. So bad that my wonderful friend Diane, who is editing these posts for me, will have her work cut out for her on this one (thanks, Diane). The chemo brain really drives me crazy – I cannot think. I know the words I want to say, but that is not what comes out of my mouth. Last night, my dog Finn was making a racket in his crate, so I called for him to stop. But instead of yelling “Finn!” I yelled “Cancer!” Lorene, who was taking care of me last night, looked at me and just started laughing. I also had a great visit with wonderful friends Diane and Laurel last night. They brought me my favorite comfort food, mashed potatoes. Yummy good.

The good visit with friends and the wonderful care I am receiving helps to restore my armor. The armor took a beating yesterday. When I checked out of the clinic yesterday, the wonderful woman who always helps me looked at me and asked, “How are you doing today?” I just looked at her and she said, “I am just going to be honest: You look tired today. You usually are so up that I can tell a difference.” I told her that she was correct.

It is true – I am very tired. The treatments are taking a toll. It is harder to keep the armor in good repair, but I am trying. But it is taking more and more out of me and I am so grateful for all the support I am receiving. I really think that it will be all of you that get the armor ready for me for the last treatment. I am weary, so I thank all of you for getting me prepared for this last chemo battle. The warrior will be ready, with the most loving armor ever.

Okay, so I have waited about as long as I can stand to without writing.  The weekends are always tough for me and this one is no different.  It is easy for me to hide from life and myself, but writing changes all of that; writing makes me be honest with myself.  Sometimes it is easier to hide, but for me it is not healthy. So I write.

It is on the weekends that my mind drifts to the last relationship I was in and I try to make sense of the whole mess.  I try to understand what happened and why, but it still makes no sense and I feel alone.  With chemo on Tuesday I know the week ahead will be rough, so I try to concentrate on getting ready for battle. But I feel the most vulnerable right now. The armor is off and the thought of putting it back on this week is difficult.  The armor is getting heavier and the battles seem to come too close together. But come Tuesday morning I will be ready.  Head held high – armor polished and in great repair – spirits will be good so I can fight another round.  I will be ready. Bring it!

The start of the weekend was pretty eventful.  It seems like it has been raining here for weeks.  I don’t mean a little drizzle every now and then – I mean RAIN!  Crazy rain!  I have a small pond in front of my house that I enjoy quite a bit.  I love sitting on the front porch watching the turtles, fish, and dragonflies and listening to the frogs.  But with all this rain, the pond is starting to overflow its banks. My driveway goes across the top of the dam and some of my friends are a little freaked out with so much water on the roadway.  I try to keep an eye on the drain to make sure it is clear and that water is flowing during times like these.

After work on Friday, I was driving across the dam and checked the drain.  I thought, “What the hell? . . . Is that a small alligator tail sticking out of the drain?”  I drove to the house and waited for the rain to slack up.  As soon as I could I walked down the drive and looked. It wasn’t an alligator but a snapping turtle, head down in the drain.  I could not believe it. I knew it was dead and that broke my heart, but I had to get the damn thing out of there. It was plugging up the hole.

I called my friend Kim and explained the situation. The same thing happened at their pond but she could not remember how they got it out. Kim wasn’t sure what to do so I called for backup, and soon Lorene was on her way with a long, hooked stick. I met her in the driveway with a pitchfork. I had no idea how to get the thing out of there but I knew I would need to get in the pond.

I look at Lorene and asked, “Do you think you should tie a rope around me?” She looked at me like I was crazy.  I don’t think she was willing to attach herself to this crazy baldheaded woman and risk being pulled into the pond right along with me.

So I grabbed my pitchfork and put it as close to the drain as possible. Okay, the water will not be over my head – that’s good.  I turn around and say, “I need to get into the pond. Do you think I should take off my boots and jeans?”  Again, Lorene looks at me like she cannot believe what she is hearing and says, “I don’t think that is such a good idea.  Just what your neighbors need: to see you with your bald head in your underwear carrying a dead turtle.”

Okay, boots and jeans stay on. I take the step and reach for the turtle. Then the girl in me comes out. “I don’t want to touch it,” I say.  But the biologist in me says, “Wow – what I great shell!” So I grab the damn snapping turtle and pull him out of the drain. He is heavier than I expected and I am off balance.  I step backwards to the bank and my foot slips.

Now I am on my ass sliding into the water, and the harder I try to get up, the more I keep slipping and sliding back into the pond. I am in the poison ivy and briars but I cannot let go of the turtle now because I want the shell. I am cussing, kicking and pulling myself up the bank. I’m not sure but I think I hear Lorene laughing. I’m just thankful she didn’t think to videotape the whole thing. I am finally back on my feet and on the driveway. And now I am just sick about this poor guy.

You might remember that I wrote a post about a nasty-ass snapping turtle. Lorene was involved in that crazy adventure also.  That one had a good ending: We saved the turtle and we still feel good about it.  This time we had a different outcome – a funny story but a sad ending.

I want to live my life so that it is filled with fun stories and great adventures, but I realize that along with all the good stuff comes the bad stuff also.  Sometimes there are happy endings, sometimes not.  But that is life, right?  We never know from one moment to the next what is going to happen.  I am glad I don’t know how my story ends – I like the adventure and unfolding of things.  This has been a rough year for me so far, but I have learned so much and I would not change one thing about it.  So I would like to thank all of you who are reading this and supporting me.  I love you. Life is a mystery.

Have you ever gotten in your car and turned on the radio and heard a song you’ve listened to a thousand times – but somehow that day it seems different? That happened to me yesterday on my way to work.  I heard Tom Petty’s “Runnin’ Down A Dream.”  I’ve heard it many times before, and even have it on a CD, but yesterday the words just spoke to me.  I guess it’s like the saying goes: The teacher will appear when the student is ready.  I finally heard the words, and it was a little gift on my way to work.

If you are not familiar with the song, the chorus is:

Yeah, runnin’ down a dream

That never would come to me

Workin’ on a mystery, goin’ wherever it leads

Runnin’ down a dream

When I heard those words, I thought, “Wow – that is exactly how I feel.”  Something has changed in me since I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  My world has changed.  I have never written anything before – never even thought about trying.  After my first chemo, sentences just started popping into my head.  I could not fall asleep because of the stories that started playing in my mind.  Finally, I thought, “Write some of this down.”  I did not think I would share it with anyone.  But then I did.  And I have been totally amazed at the response.

So this is what my life feels like now: that I am running down a dream.  I have no idea where the dream will lead . . . but I feel like I am on my path.

Another part of the song says:

I rolled on, the sky grew dark

I put the pedal down to make some time

There’s something good, waitin’ down this road

I’m picking up whatever is mine

So far this year, my sky has grown dark, but I just keep rolling down this road.  I do believe that there is something good waiting.  That is the faith that I have talked about. It takes faith to walk through the dark and believe that something good is waiting.  If I did not believe or have faith, I would never be able to keep walking, never be able to see the light shining at the end of this tunnel. I have been truly blessed, not in spite of having breast cancer but because of it. I have started down a new path. I have started running down my dream.