When Bob asks me how I’m feeling, it’s difficult to articulate it. Because I’m physically feeling so much.

Mind you, I’ve never been very good at being in tune with my body. I’m too much in my head most of the time.

But this experience feels like a rebirthing of sorts, in so many ways.

A shift. An increase in awareness. A rooting down in deep trust. A recentering of purpose and intentionality.

And with that, I suppose to no surprise, has come a better handle on my own body.

Which, in answering his question, comes out oh-so profoundly articulated:

“I feel… STUFF… happening.”

Deep, huh? [Insert eyeroll here.] My eight-year-old could be more descriptive.

But it’s true! I can’t explain it exactly... but I can physically FEEL the chemo in my chest, abdomen, breasts, and lymph nodes.

Sometimes I even feel a tingle where my tumor was. Or an itch. Like a scab that becomes itchy as it heals.

The body is an amazing, divinely inspired phenomenon. I was in awe of it after birthing Henry, and I am in awe of it again through this experience.

Lately, I’ve felt a shift in my body since the last chemo two and a half weeks ago. My body feels nearly maxed. When I picture the next two (last two!) infusions, my stomach immediately feels upset.  

But here’s the thing: That feeling ­– of an upset stomach – is not originating from my mind. My head is in a great space. Rather, my body is acting on its own messaging, telling me – i.e., my head, my neutral awareness – that it is maxed. It can’t take much more. And that realization has caused me some concern.

As I’ve mentioned before, one of the greatest lessons of this experience is witnessing the degree to which my needs are met. Every time. Every day. Big or small.  

A few days ago, I was sitting in my living room. Henry was at school, and the house was quiet. I’d been feeling the fatigue of my body, which now seemed to begin shouting, “Enough!” To be perfectly honest, it scared me a little. For the first time in a long while, I felt fear creeping in. I began to feel myself attempting to separate my head space from my body, for fear my body would pull me down emotionally. I couldn’t picture the next two infusions without worry shrouding my vision. It was a fairly new sensation.

At that moment, this poem showed up in front of me, written by a dear and wise friend. (You can follow her musings on Facebook and Instagram.)

WHEN MY MIND

is running in chaos and nature around me sits defiantly and beautifully still.

How can you JUST SIT THERE, I ask. Can’t you SEE ME SUFFERING?

Ah yes, it says, but this is how you are cured of it. This quiet stillness.

Pause.

Breathe.

Do not move.

Do not decide.

Do not push or pull.

Be still.

Just. Like. This.

Now, shhhhh.

Let me hold all of the tempest for I have weathered it.

Let me take the confusion because I can absorb it.

Let me hold your longing because I have bounty to fill it.

To do or not to do? That is not the question. It is to be. How much have you decided to just be?

Divinely and wholly made. Already anointed with spontaneous genius. Already full to the brim with abundance.

Look now with clear eyes. There’s a path just beyond the bow of the tree. Push past there, for beyond is the meadow you seek and the obscured part of yourself you long to find.

Ah, it was a salve for my open wound of worry! With some inspiration from another friend, I stepped back and pivoted my outlook. Instead of emotionally abandoning my body, I decided to love on it. I began to have this internal conversation with it – my beloved, fearfully made, prayed over body – which is doing powerful work on my behalf and giving itself to this metamorphosis.  

Only two more. You can do it. I believe in you. Trust that this medicine is here to do what it needs to do. You and I will be better for it on the other side. You will be healed. You will rebuild. You will be new. You will be stronger. We will be stronger.

It sounds crazy, but I don’t care. It is a curious thing, this cancer journey that strips you down to bare nubs only to reveal something beautiful and unexpected.

The obscured part of yourself you long to find.

And therein lies the truth that Good exists in all things if we have the eyes to see it.

Some concluding thoughts for the week:

• I have my second-to-last chemo (!!!) next Tuesday. My body is beginning to show obvious signs of wearing down. Please pray that it can remain strong for the last two.

• I have an MRI scheduled for October 12th to make sure the chemo did its job.

• My mastectomy is scheduled for November 15th. A month of radiation will follow in January. The reconstruction surgery will be put on hold until Fall 2024. And the hysterectomy will fit somewhere within that timeframe.

• Endless thank you’s to all who have supported us with nourishment, love, prayers, hugs, playdates, and more. I’m looking forward to the day we can pay it forward.

Here’s to our incredible bodies who work so hard for us.

With love,

Evie