365 Days: Part 1

Sleeping in a hallway in a pandemic when you’ve found out you have cancer and there are no blankets, so you’re using your winter coat. Fun. Memories. :|

It’s been 365 days since I was discharged from a 60-hour hospital stay.

367 days since I was admitted to the hospital.

367 days since I walked 90 minutes home from the same hospital after a CT scan with dye. Thinking, of course, that walking was helping my swelling. When nothing was really helping the swelling because my body was trying to kill me.

367 days since I arrived back home after my long walk to lie down. It would be 45 minutes before my doctor would call me.

367 days since I picked up the phone and my doctor said “Danielle, it’s likely lymphoma. You need to go back to the hospital now. Are you okay? How are you? Are you okay?” To which I said “I’m okay. I’m just glad to finally have an answer.” It had been 8+ weeks of knowing something was seriously, seriously wrong and we just didn’t know what it was.

367 days since I said “so should I bring a bag or something, how long will I be there?” And my doctor responding “Danielle. It’s probably lymphoma. You’re going to be admitted.”

367 days since I walked out of our bedroom to tell Willis he needed to bring me back to the hospital and I didn’t know when I would be home.

367 since I told Willis we finally had an answer and would soon have a plan.

367 days since: relief.

367 days since I called my nearest and dearest to tell them I was being admitted to the hospital and it was likely lymphoma.

367 days since I wept in the hallway when I found out I would have to sleep there.

367 days of a nurse telling me “it’s good you’re in the hallway, that means it’s not so bad.” Note this down in the book of “Things not to say to a 36-year-old woman with little kids at home when she’s just found out she probably has cancer.”

367 days since I said to that nurse “I’m not going to die right this instant so I guess that’s fine.”

367 days since I slept in the hallway during a pandemic. Mask in my eyes. Mask on my mouth.

366 days since I had a biopsy on the lump above my left collarbone.

366 days since I finally got some steroids and my swelling went down.

365 days since I had a CT scan on my abdomen to make sure the cancer wasn’t there, too.

365 days since I called my husband and kids to come get me at the hospital.

365 days since I smiled so big when I got in the car to greet them because I wasn’t swollen anymore.

365 days since I told my kids I was sick and had a big mass in the middle of my chest but at least the doctors and nurses knew what it was and could work on fixing it.

365 days since I went from a generally healthy person to a sick person.

365 days since my life turned upside down.

365 days since texts, calls, cards, flowers and food started to come our way.

365 days since I looked up at the sky and was grateful to see it.

365 days since I watched my children play in the snow and laughing.

365 days since the old Danielle died and the new one was born.

365 days of knowing there is so much love.

365 days of days. Of being here. Of continuing to grow. Of getting healthy.

Here’s to the next 365. And the 365 after that. And the 365 after that. And hopefully to many, many, many, more anniversaries.

To counting days. Because in the end, that’s all any of us have, one day after another.

If we’re lucky.