Finding Beauty

After moving into the house in July – just before being diagnosed, Isabella was only twenty months old.  We set up her bedroom with her new furniture, including a double bed with side rails – so she wouldn’t fall off.  She was already out of her crib and loved her big bed.

In the morning, I would head to her bedside to kiss my sleeping beauty, before going downstairs.  As my mom would hear me, she would get out of bed to help me out.  If my dad had spent the night, they were usually already downstairs having their coffee and breakfast.

My mom always tried to get me to eat breakfast, but the nausea was too strong.  On the rare occasion my nausea had subsided, a few bites of toast with butter were a pleasure.  I only drank water or juice, and herbal tea became more frequent when plain water didn’t taste good.

For about a year after starting chemotherapy, I couldn’t stand the taste of tap or bottled water.  It would have to be boiled and flavoured, and who felt like doing that.  It happens still that I have to stay away from water.  It tastes as though it was mixed with bile or some thing awful like that.  The taste just doesn’t seem right.  Maybe the change comes from my own mouth now that chemo affected my taste buds.

Isabella would call out for me.  The beautiful sound of her sleepy voice carried through the house so sweetly.  I wanted to run up the stairs to pick her up and squeeze her.  But I could barely get off the couch.  My mother rushed to her to help her off the bed and down the stairs.  My heart jumped with joy when I saw the happiness on my baby’s face as she headed toward me.  My mother sat her next to me.  Isabella’s hair, once it finally had some length, curled in every direction, and her big dark eyes glared at me like I was a queen.  I still couldn’t believe she was mine.


Find your strength that can get you through the worst, because in most cases, there is an end to our pain.   We just absolutely need to find a way to get there.  



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