1 week of radiation down,

5 weeks to go. I've never been more thankful that I live so close to Fox Chase. My appointment is for 7:30AM. I leave the house at 7:20AM, arrive, park, take the elevator to the first floor, change into my gown, put my bag and clothes in a locker, sit in the waiting room, pick up a magazine, find an article I want to read, get called back before reading it, get zapped for 8 minutes, go back and get dressed, this time rubbing aloe vera onto my skin, take the elevator back upstairs, walk to my car, drive back home and arrive at 8AM so I can finish getting the kids ready for camp. Not bad! The routine has even motivated me to get school bags and lunches packed the night before which makes for a much easier morning.

No side effects to report. 5 weeks to go. I am feeling well.
***
I've been walking a few mornings a week, when I can fit it in, plus getting back to lifting weights which I alternate with yoga (20 minutes of either one most days). It's not a hard core workout by any means but I am feeling the difference. Exercise is such a clear antidote for stress, both in the endorphins that get released in my body and also in the way that moving my body takes me away from the racing thoughts in my mind and grounds me into my body, into the now.

I wish that I had been doing this all along, over the past few years, but the truth is, like most moms of young children who are also working outside of the home, most of my time was spent keeping the balls of everyone's needs at home and at work juggling in the air. The juggling was nonstop and if I got a moment to put a ball or two down and take time for myself, I preferred taking a coffee break or sitting on my ass and watching TV.

The walking/yoga/weights is part of my big paradigm shift that has come about since getting the breast cancer diagnosis, which forced me to stop juggling and just watch the balls fall crashing to the earth.

If it was as simple as "make time for yourself," all moms of young children would figure out a graceful way to do that. My experience is that I've needed to explore deeper layers of what has stopped me from living a life of optimal wellness. I've needed to unclutter my emotions the same way I need to unclutter my house and unclutter my time.

I know that I was on a path of doing this before the diagnosis; I've been striving for balance and wellness for some time. But the urgency of my diagnosis forced me onto a steep learning curve that I've happily embraced.

Not that I wake up to a life of zen, clean balance; not at all. I wake up to June whining about me not washing her favorite bathing suit and George rejecting the gluten free muffins that he absolutely loved two weeks ago and dirty dishes in the sink and a shitload of things to accomplish at work. Nothing external has shifted. But my perception of it, my reaction to it, my awareness of what triggers my stress, my ability to breath through it, my focus on the big picture

has transformed my life into a much happier, healthier one, even if my zen garden is deeply buried under layers of Disney Princess and Spiderman shit.
***
5 weeks of radiation to go and 5 weeks until George starts kindergarden and I can't help but thinking about how this new chapter of my life is intersecting with this new chapter of his. His going to kindergarden frees my time and energy in a way that will allow for me to focus differently on my new awareness of wellness.

I am so happy that we found a great kindergarden class for him at the public school and that we will walk just 1/2 block each morning to get there. I am so happy about all of the progress he's made in preschool and with the RDI cognitive therapy that we are doing at home.

But I get really teary when I think too much about him going to kindergarden. As much as I know the space and separation is neccessary for both of us to grow, I guess I am not quite ready to let go of my baby. Even though he's gone to preschool for full days of mornings and afternoons, this coming separation still feels hard. The acknowledgement of time passing, of him being ready to enter that big elementary school; I'm struggling with it.

Maybe there is still some goodbye that I need to say to the baby that he was. That baby that I can still see, smell and feel so vividly from his first ten days of life in the NICU to the miraculous day when we brought him home. Maybe there is some goodbye that I need to say to the busy toddler, to the three-year-old who struggled to acquire language. Maybe there is a goodbye I am holding back for the four and five-year-old boy who spent hours with me, learning skills like cutting and dressing and playing catch with a ball that other children just acquire naturally.

Maybe I need to hold those parts of George in a deep place in my heart so that I can make room for the six-year-old boy that he has become, ready for this new challenge, sunny, tall and strong. When he goes to school, I can walk down the block and watch him on the playground at recess, I will be able to walk by and look into his classroom. I know I will be able to do those things, but I will try to not.