Interruptions come in many forms...an unexpected phone call, a neighbor dropping by for a chat, the cry of "Mom!" from the next room, a trip to the emergency room with your child. Some interruptions are welcomed; many are not. Welcomed or not, interruptions have a way of making you stop whatever it is you were doing and focus entirely on something else.
My interruption came with one word...cancer. I had noticed a lump on the back of my thigh earlier this spring but dismissed it as a muscle knot since I had recently started working out again. However, no amount of stretching and massaging would make that knot relax. A few months later I noticed it had grown larger and decided it should be looked at. Multiple doctor visits and one MRI later, I was headed almost four hours away for surgery to have a significantly-sized tumor removed from my leg. A biopsy revealed a fairly uncommon, aggressive form of cancer.
I have had friends and relatives who have battled cancer, and my heart has always gone out to them. But it is an entirely different feeling to hear the word "cancer" related to your own body and health. It's as if the rest of the world stops and all you can think about is,
what does this mean and what can I do about it? There were weeks of waiting before we had answers to all our questions, and those days were filled with emotional highs and lows and lots and lots of prayer.
During that time, things that had previously seemed so "urgent" were now not even on my radar. It didn't matter to me whether the laundry was folded, the kids got to bed on time, or I found the best deal at the grocery store. What mattered most was soaking up every moment with my kids, re-connecting with family and friends, and making sure everyone in my life knew how much I loved and cared for them.
The doctors are now confident they've removed all the cancer from my body and have pronounced me "cancer-free." I have to do some radiation to lower the risk of the cancer returning, but considering what I thought I'd be facing, radiation is a cake walk. So now life is beginning to return to normal. Family has returned home. Doctor's appointments are fewer and farther between. My strength and energy are returning. Life is beginning to look like it once did.
On the one hand it is a relief to return to "normal." On the other, I don't want to forget what I've learned. I don't want to get so caught up again in the details of day-to-day living that I forget to drink in the laughter of my children, make time for family and friends, and tell those in my life how much they mean to me. Of course I can't let the laundry go forever, and someone still needs to go grocery shopping and make dinner, but I'm hoping I can remember to keep those things in perspective. To remember while they maybe
urgent, they are not necessarily what is
important.
Our little fairy and train engineer 
Fun at Daddy's office
Inspecting the loot
So much candy!
