Sleep is not easy to come by all of sudden. Even the techniques I have learned over the years to help me get to sleep at night are not working. I fall asleep, but wake up at about 2 am and do not get back to sleep until about 5 am. Then I am awake at the first crack of dawn, just as the sky outside my shaded windows has barely started to perceptibly lighten.
I am not a morning person. I am and have been for as long as I can remember, a night owl. Even as a child, I learned that if I lay in bed and imagined I was on a raft in a pool, or in a boat just watching the waves, this would help me fall asleep instead of laying there bored out of my mind. I learned later in life this was meditation. I was so smart. In my teen years, meditation would help me get to sleep, but I found on occasion that staying asleep was not as easy. But that only happened occasionally. If meditation didn’t help me get back to sleep, I found that rather than stressing about not sleeping, I would just read for a while, and sleep would come back to me. Dawns were not something I did often. There were the few occasions when I would be up, right before or with the sun, but my usual pattern was an hour or two after sunrise. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I remember being up by dawn of my own accord.
My husband arrived home Wednesday morning, and I am so glad to come home to him. I am cheered he is going with me to the biopsy. I am glad he is there to hold me and tell me everything is going to be alright. Most people do not get our humor. We’re both very dry and sarcastic. He, much more so than me. He is my perfect match as far as I am concerned. He makes me laugh. I know he loves me not only by him telling me so, but in all that he does for us as a family, and what he does for me to make my days a little easier. Despite saying things at times that most interpret as uncaring or callous, I know this is his quick dry wit and sarcasm coming through at its best. I love him dearly and wouldn’t trade him for the world. I feel a little more centered now that he is back and can hold me.
When I first told him about The Lump, and we were discussing all the different possibilities, he asked me what I thought the worst-case scenario was. I said it’s tender and big, and even though it’s nothing, they will want to remove it because of the tender/big part. What will that do to my right boob? It’s going to be a different size than the left one. His immediate response was, “That’s OK they will just be Italian boobs”. I thought for a second, I wasn’t getting the correlation. So I said, “OK, I’ll bite, what are Italian boobs?”
“WOP sided,” says my partially Sicilian husband. He made me laugh. Life is always good with him, even in the bad, scary times. I love him.
Today is the anniversary date of becoming a mother, happiest of birthday wishes to my eldest child.
Life is good with my dry-witted sarcastic husband