(The following was originally posted on my Carepages blog for family and friends during my treatment.)

I’m counting the days right now until Thursday the 15th when I am slated to have my last chemo infusion. Two or three days after that, I will likely hide out in my cave, shuffle my way through the handful of side effects that come with the treatment, and then take a deep breath knowing that my body can truly begin to recover without being attacked by toxic chemicals. I see my surgeon on the 23rd of June, at which time I believe he will schedule and discuss my mastectomy surgery. It appears he will schedule it quickly, based on prior discussions we’ve had.

As I write this, my elder cat, a mere five-pound puffball of fur and fuzz, sits at attention on the stool opposite the front door. Normally, Wizard would use this time of day for her morning nap and, since the blinds are closed, I know she isn’t watching the birds at the feeder. I’ve decided she is praying. I don’t know if cat’s pray, but that’s what it looks like. The sun trickles through the blinds and dapples her body. She sits very still (not her normal M.O.). I am pondering what cats would pray about.

I miss my hair. It’s funny. I don’t have to spend money on lots of hair products, fuss with straggling ends, worry about style. Weather permitting, Tim and I do a lot of porch sitting. We live across from a small lake and beach. I watch the women who come and go from the lake and what they do with their hair. I’m certain when mine grows back I will return to fussing over it as I once did. For now, it’s just one less thing I have to worry about—and that’s okay.

I have yet to go public with any of my situation but have pondered doing so. Up until now, I have wanted to avoid filling my head with everyone’s opinions about how I should heal myself as well as keeping my mind clear of others’ stories and side effects. Strange as it sounds, if I don’t know it can happen, my mind won’t manifest it. Even though I have had a laundry list of reactions from the varying chemo cocktails, I feel I have been lucky in that they have been minor. Every day I see people who are far worse off than me—and not just from cancer. Still, sometimes I like to whine.

I’ve continued to work on the revision of my Transformational Healing book. I’m hoping to release it by September or thereabouts. When that occurs, I’ll need to be more public, thus my considering going public now. The most difficult part has been writing the updated epilogue. How does one profess to be a healer while amidst a healing crisis? (This is actually more common that you might think.) Since the book presents ailments as a means to look more deeply into one's life, my hope is they will embrace the journey with me, rather than feel it discredits my years of work. Once that is done, I can work on the heritage card deck that serves as the next step after the book.

Thanks again to all of you for your prayers, support, understanding, cards, letters, posts, and calls. It has meant the world to me at a time when my world is upside down and backward. I wonder what my new normal will be on the other side of this big adventure and hope I have learned well enough the lessons it has brought. I certainly have made many shifts in actions and in thought. Still. I know life will continue to be a journey with many new twists and turns all along the way. I have always strived to be a little better each day. I know now I also need to appreciate the person that I am who will never be perfect but desires to matter every day.

If I could impart one thing to you all, that would be it. Know that you matter in some way to someone each and every day. You don’t have to be perfect. Just by being you, you are touching someone’s life and are making a difference—even if you don’t realize it at the time. This not only affects the people you come in contact with each day, but also those who are at a distance and connect with you through thought, love, and prayer. I know in my life, each one of you matters a lot. Thank you.