I worry far too much. It is a struggle of mine, and I think it always will be. My mind recklessly jumps into the future and imagines that the acid in my stomach has finally turned the cells in my esophagus against each other, that my estrogen-producing ovaries keep refusing to release those precious, life-enabling eggs and eventually all I will be is a cancer-infected girl who did not even fulfill her dream of being a gentle mother, completely awe-struck by her child. I fear that if I do ever pass down my DNA to that of another, I will also give them my diseases. How terrible the thought that my baby girl will be heaving painfully over the toilet every night because of the cruel acid that is trapped in her chest, creating the possibility of ulcers and esophagitis; cancer. It’s funny, my fears are that of never being able to conceive or having a miscarriage, yet they are also of raising children, at the same time.
On these days, when my entire existence becomes consumed by these fears, these quite real possibilities, I remind myself that the day is still marvelous and life can still be beautiful. Even if I do develop cancer, even if I never get to gleefully pick out a name for my child, even if I have heartburn every day for the rest of my life, there is still an infinite amount of wonders that I have to be thankful for. - The rich taste of hot chocolate during cold December and the smell of firework smoke at the turning of the year, the feeling of awe when staring out into the endless night sky and marveling at the glorious constellation of Orion, the nerdy, brown-rimmed glasses I wear so I can actually see clearly what’s ten feet in front of me, the sweet hedgehog that lives in my room and always hides inside her little castle, the gift of being able to appreciate the power of simple words, the deeply lined hands to hold a fine-ink pen, the warm feeling of being tangled within three blankets on a chilly night while shyly holding hands with a lover, the sight of baby birds attempting to fly for the very first time, the salty smell of the ocean in summer, the memories of family vacations spent entirely on exploring various Florida springs and devouring beef jerky, the knowledge that freedom is mine, despite the mental chains I sometimes allow myself to wear, the fact that my life is literally a part of history, the lovely voice of Bon iver and the sound of banjos and harmonicas, the first ray of light that peers through my dusty window in the morning.
The ability to stay whole even during times of sickness.
The courage to remain hopeful even when darkness invades.
The soul that lives within my body, whispering to my heart that even the last stages of cancer can be overcome and children can be adopted and even in times of despair, there is always something to smile about.