I can count on two fingers the amount of birthday parties I had as a kid. One when I was 7 and one when I was 12 (also because we were moving that year so it was two-fold as a going away party.) But we did not celebrate much. Valentine’s Day did not procure us a sweet treat nor did St. Patrick’s Day get us any special cookies. But Christmas. Christmas in the Plass household was big and epic. I was the kid who would wake up at 3 in the morning, run down the stairs, only turn on the Christmas tree lights and just be in awe of the sight. Santa came! The presents were all wrapped, layered on top of each other. Everywhere. It was beautiful. Every year. The same excitement would fill my eyes as the wrapping paper would glisten in the glow of the Christmas tree lights and I would search for all my presents. After finding all my presents, I would lay down on the couch and wait for everyone else to realize it’s Christmas and come downstairs. Translation: I would eventually fall back asleep on the couch until my sisters would come join me downstairs. We would quietly play games to try to occupy our time before an acceptable time to wake up our parents. One of our favorite games was Wheel of Fortune on our Apple 2Gs computer. Pretty sure that game was on one of those big, black floppy disks. Vanna would be in this blue pixeled dress robot-walking across the stage as we tried to solve the puzzle. We spent hours at this game, trying to be patient. When the sun started to peak, we would deem it an appropriate time to rustle the parents out of bed. Finally!! Of course, my parents would putter here and there until we were finally all together in the family room to begin unwrapping our gifts, one at a time. Nice and structured and restrained. One year, my entire Christmas haul was Chicago Bulls gear. I remember I got a Chicago Bulls starter jacket (the official starter jacket with a huge Bulls logo on the back and any movement creating a loud crinkly paper sound as I walked because of the windbreaker material. Yep, amazing), red Bulls sweatpants, a red Bulls sweatshirt, and a Chicago Bulls black and red outdoor basketball. Again, my sense of fashion has always been top-tier. But my Bulls gear was the best. Plus, this was the early 90s when the Bulls and Michael Jordan were THE team winning their first 3-peat. I always dreamed of going to a Bulls game but again, those tickets were expensive and we were poor. But I would watch the Bulls religiously, even as an 8-year-old girl. I loved basketball. Hence why my Christmas’ always had mostly sport presents. Towards the end of our Christmas present unwrapping, my Dad would need to call Santa about an unmarked gift. Dad would have a full-on one-sided conversation on our landline to figure out to whom the big present belonged. It was normally our big family gift: a computer, computer games or a CD player. But I always hoped it was mine because by this time in the present opening, I was sulking in a corner because I had ripped through my presents faster than my sisters. Jen had a turn then me. Becky had a turn then me. Margee had a turn then me. Somehow I always flew through my presents and then had to sit there and watch everyone else. But I endured the present opening torture until I was free to go play with my new sports present of that year. Even in my sulking, I think it was more of bemoaning the waiting another 365 days until this magical morning would happen again. Because it was the best morning as a kid Every year. The absolute best.

We are three weeks out from my surgery and I am still not operating at “Liz potential.” This surgery and surgery recovery is not what I expected. My abs are still trying to figure out how to work. My mind is running a mile-a-minute trying to settle down because my body is still recovering and I am frustrated by what I feel is a long enough time of being stagnant. Other people might take a while to recover from major surgery but I am not like others. I am strong. I am resilient. And I have gone through hard times before. But cancer has been different. It has been nothing of what I expected. Then again, I do not know what I was expecting. I was not expecting the physical pain in radiation, chemotherapy or surgery. I was not expecting to go into menopause because of radiation. I was not expecting to lose half my hair. I was not expecting to have numb fingers and feet months after chemo. I was not expecting the physical limitations from surgery. And in this season of Christmas and of “this is not what I was expecting” time in my life, I thought about Mary, Jesus’ mother. I am not even sure why my brain went there, but it did. I wonder when she was pregnant with the Savior of the World and Joseph wanted to quietly divorce her, did she think, “this is not what I expected.” Or Jesus as a kid. Or how about watching the child you birthed be nailed to a cross. Was Mary thinking, “this is certainly not how I thought things would go.” Or I wonder if she knew all along it was going to work out in the end. I have so many questions. I am learning it is not necessarily how things go in your life but how you choose to deal with it. Choosing is so powerful, friends. Even in this moment while I am writing this, I have tears streaming down my face. In part, I blame menopause (because why not?). But I hate this part of my life right now yet I have the choice to be hopeful. And sometimes I don’t want to be hopeful. I want to be angry and cry and grieve my life. And I do. BUT, I still have the choice to continue to work to move forward. Not all choices are easy. Some may seem like a lose-lose. I am clinging to the hope that He who promised us is faithful. I am not really sure when I will feel like my old self or when things will be easier. Maybe I don’t go back to feeling like my old self or maybe it doesn’t get easier. Rather I am changed and my perspective changed and that is when it becomes easier. Again, a lot of I don’t knows and living in the gray. I clearly have zero answers. However, in this season of anticipation, may we choose to find hope. And for me, that is putting one step in front of the other, one day at a time and continuing to weather through this storm. 

Friends and family, if you read all the way through that blog, phew! Thank you. Life with Barbara has been harder for me so I am especially grateful for the texts, calls, letters and messages of encouragement. Those “little” check-ins are not little to me. My continued gratitude for the meals, extra help with our kids, love and support. I know I am loved but in this cancer season, I FEEL loved. And I’m crying again. Damn, menopause. 

Liz