Trudge - verb\ˈtrəj\ : to walk or march steadily and usually laboriously
or as I have heard it defined most accurately:
To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who
has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on.
We've been doing a lot of trudging lately, here, in the Thies house, or at least if feels that way.
I had a decent check up at Mayo a few months ago. My liver is still looking good and though my lung tumors are still growing, they are doing so at a slow pace. There was some discussion with my oncologist about possible treatments for my lung tumors and a clinical trial was proposed, but I left undecided... and I am still undecided. I return to Mayo in a couple of weeks for my normal scans and check-up and I expect the trial will be discussed again.
Back at home, I decided to return to work on "a limited basis", and since it is near impossible to have your own classroom on "a limited basis", I am substitute teaching 2 - 3 days a week. I decided to return to work mostly in efforts to help make ends meet financially around here, but also partly because I miss being in the classroom. Let me tell you, working again has been a huge adjustment, not just for me, but for Kylynn as well. Subbing is tough, not that I thought it would be a breeze, but some days... Wow! And I can't even begin to tell you how exhausted I am. Most evenings, by 8:00 (8:00 folks! What the heck!), I am ready to go to bed, and often do. This is a tiredness that I have never felt before. I don't like it. But I trudge on.
And worse than my trudging, and likely adding to my trudging, is that fact that Kylynn seems to be trudging too. Since school has started, Kylynn has been having a rough time. I can't recall a time when I have ever seen Kylynn this out of sorts. She has a lot going on, my wee one. Respecting her privacy I will just say this, I can only imagine what it must be like to be 8 years old and to know your mom has cancer and to understand all that that could mean (and make no mistake, Kylynn understands). And on top of that worry she has normal 8 year old stuff going on, school issues, friend issues, normal kid stuff. My baby is trudging, it breaks my heart.
Now, this may seem off topic, but bear with me:
The philosopher Friedrich, Nietzsche once said: “If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” Now to be fair, that is really only half the quote, and taken as a whole means something a little different than what I'm getting at but, taking just that part I get this from it: Dwell for too long on any one thing and it can consume you or define you. There are many different "abysses" that we could gaze into in our lives but around here the biggest abyss is cancer. And it is a dangerous abyss to say the least, full of whys, hows, and what ifs. Gazing into that abyss never produces any answers, only more questions and uncertainties, and it is an abyss that gazes almost instantly back into you. Now, I am an adult, I know that it doesn't do to dwell on cancer (though every caner fighter is entitled to from time to time, in my opinion) and so I keep busy, and Kylynn keeps me busy, and more often than not I am able to skirt the edge of the abyss without too much gazing into it. Kylynn, however, is just a child, a fact which neither protects her from the abyss of cancer nor equips her with any weapons to fight its gaze. So we, the adults in her life, do our best to give her distractions while trying to teach her ways to fight the abyss on her own. But she is a small warrior. Brave. Strong. But small, and still learning. She revels in her dancing and karate, both of which provide her with an armor or sorts against the abyss of cancer, and she enjoys being with her friends and family which also give her some safety, for those things I am grateful beyond words. But her abyss defenses are not fully formed yet. And so we trudge on, one foot in front of the other, me trying to guide my girl's steps away from the abyss even as my own falter. But even on the rainiest day, when the abyss yawns greater and more immense than ever and our heavy hearts cause use to trudge, there are friends, true friends, who lighten our burdens, and family whose ever present love gently pushes us away from the abyss. We are blessed, even in our struggles.
Hello, I am Rebecca Thies and I write Even On The Rainiest Day... mostly as an outlet for myself as I make my way through my days with a small, beautiful daughter and a cancer diagnosis. If, however, my journey can in any way help others, all the better. In my life B.C. (before cancer) I taught a special education class for kindergarten and first grade students for seven years and I loved my job. I loved every student I had and they all have taught me many lessons that have come to have even more meaning in my life A.D. (after diagnosis). In January of 2006, when my daughter was one and a half years old, I was diagnosed with bile duct cancer and I suddenly found myself on a road that I had no map for. Since then I have left my teaching job, choosing to take the "pay-cut" of disability, and stay home to be with my young daughter. And so, with my husband, daughter, and a large group of family and friends, I am learning that having to chart a new course in your life may not always be easy but it can bring unexpected gifts and blessings. If I can help you in any way please contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org.