Sit. Knit. Cope.
When I received a diagnosis of breast cancer, I had no idea what I was in for. No one does. No one tells you that it isn’t the diagnosis that gets to you, it’s the coping.
Realizing the big ‘C’ has his grip around your throat is now a fact of life that is out of your hands. What is in your hand is learning how to live with it.
The first several weeks, you’re recuperating from shock, bad dreams, and late-night pity parties. Your world becomes small and self-absorbed; you’re living inside the Fun House at the carnival. There are walls, but they’re moving. There are windows, but you can’t see out.
There’s a fluorescent bulb glaring on your new world screaming “pay attention, this is serious”. You can’t help but look back to catch a glimpse of your old life just . . . as . . . it . . . blacks out and goes limp. Your body, perhaps painful and still plotting against you, trumps it all.
You must find a way through this; you must survive.
You will cope! That’s what you’ll do.
That’s it, you will learn skills to cope.
I had to learn a skill to cope. I had to practice coping. I picked up a pair of knitting needles. I fondled a ball of wool.
There was no end to the coping; I needed to know that I was still valuable, that I could still contribute…
