Look for the pennies.

Last on my pre-chemo checklist was a quick port-a-cath surgery, scheduled for Wednesday, January 27, 2021, where a small device would be placed underneath the skin, just under my collar bone. It's how the chemotherapy drugs will be administered, versus having to get stuck with an IV at each infusion.

Ok. 30 second pity party. How awful is it that in less than a year and a half, I've had to be put under for both a D&C after a miscarriage and a procedure for chemo? (Because I have cancer.) Thank God we at least mixed it up by delivering a baby in between the two, but still - wtf. This SUCKS. And the question I have to ask: why me? It doesn't help that I'm scared of basically anything medical-related. I mean, I cried when they told me I would have a breathing tube while I was asleep during my port procedure...something extremely common with anesthesia. During an extremely minor surgery.

But then again, I cried when I had to get six stitches in my chin once. In my defense, this happened at 1am at a hospital in Cancun, Mexico after I had passed out from dehydration. Yes - I had had one shot of tequila at dinner that night, but I think it was more the 13 hours in the sun and lack of water intake that did me in. One of my (now) biggest heroes saw me falling and tried to catch me with my hair, and that is the only reason I still have the same two front buck teeth I was born with. So it could have been far worse, but omg, I'll never forget that night. We paid the cab driver an extra $200 to stay and wait for us in the parking lot of the emergency room. When we were done, we knocked on his window and he sprang up like a Jack-in-the-box from his nap; and then drove us back to our resort like it was nothing. I hope he's doing well. (Still an amazing wedding weekend, J&B!)

I digress.

Anyway, the port placement went smoothly. The nurses and my doctor were amazing, and took great care of this gigantic scaredy cat. I was actually in pre-op longer than I was in the operating room. When I woke up, I guess I wouldn't stop asking for Joe, and then like magic, there he was. Finally, we could go home and have a few days to ourselves without any appointments.

All that's left to do now is mentally prepare for chemo, and fill myself up with as much hope and courage as I can muster.

***

After my surgery, a friend of mine whose family suffered a traumatic accident while on vacation a few years ago texted me. She told me that after their accident, she started finding pennies all over the place - at the hospital where they were treated, on the streets, in the seat of the airplane when they were finally cleared to travel home. And when another fell out of her discharge paperwork folder, she believed in her heart of hearts that it was God's way of letting her know He was there, watching over her and her family. For her, it was a sign of hope. One that she needed so desperately in that moment.

Fast forward to now, and she told me that she's found SEVEN pennies in the last week. She looks for them often, but hasn't seen a pattern like this since their accident. "I know for sure that the same great, mighty God has you too. I can feel it with so much certainty." She's saving them for me in a jar in her kitchen.

At the end of her text, she reminded me to look for the pennies. Look for the signs around me that give me hope; that give me the courage I need on the hard days, and the gratitude I need on the good days.

What she doesn't realize is that she is a penny. We continue to be overwhelmed by the love and support of our families and friends - the pennies - all around us that we so desperately need now in our moment.

Wish me luck on Monday, February 1, 2021 - my first chemo infusion. And don't forget to look for the pennies.