It's not about me...

This Post is Inspired by a Dear friend undergoing her own fight for life. She is a hero to so many and a true light in this world. I will not use her name right now without her permission, but I hope to introduce her to you one day. To her, All my love this morning, Sweet Friend!

This Morning I was sitting here in my big overstuffed comfy chair that I bought at the height of my illness so I could curl up in comfort and be around my family without being jarred or bumped on accident. Just being touched was more than I could bear. The very things I loved most about my family life, I retreated from. I have always loved the small spaces in a home. The spots where you squeeze past one another and constantly find yourself crowded. One of my favorite songs even after all these years is Love Grows Best in Little Houses , by Doug Stone. I am claustrophobic but still enjoy the coziness of small spaces. Just not closed in spaces. Not the point...

So when I  felt myself pulling into the safety of my own" little house" and the comfort of my inviting chair I had to give some thought to what brought me here.  Here, being the time I spend traveling as an advocate and now a writer. Am I writing as a way to heal my body and soul? Not really. It may help though. I hold things very close to my heart and recount with some distance my experiences, so I don't have to think about it. I remember back to days where I was speaking in front of large crowds and telling my story in both small groups and also huge venues. Telling in intimate detail about my cancer and all that it robbed me of.  I am much better in front of a large group.

It was always because I never wanted any other girl, to be "that girl" you know the one, she avoided screenings out of fear, she lived in extreme pain and breathed through it because that's what a woman does. You know her, the one we whisper about at family reunions,
     "shh, let's not bring up so and so's pregnancy, you know she can't have babies... if only she had gone to the Doctor. " or " she was so young , why didn't she just get checked, I guess we'll never know..."  I was telling my story, jumping up and down, shouting  to anyone who would listen. For a privae person, a whole lot of people know about my vagina.

It just wasn't about me, it never was. It was about my son, about my parents, and my brothers. It was about the other mothers who would have to call her children and parents and tell them those words...I have cancer. I say I a lot, normally a bad thing, but in this case I am willing to be the before and the after. The example of what not to do. but in order to do that I need to tell my whole story. The good the bad and the ugly. I just never want another woman to lose all that she holds dear, or a man lose his reproductive or sexual function because a Dr. walks in and walks out. or more likely, because they never went.  I'm told all the time how brave or strong or tough I am. But you see, it's not about me. This fight was never about me. It was really about you, reading this blog.