Yesterday was the Fourth of July.
A couple years ago I would’ve been planning it for weeks. We’d have packed up chairs, towels, coolers, way too much food, and probably stayed at the beach until we couldn’t keep our eyes open anymore. I always wanted to do everything. If there was a barbecue, I wanted to be there. If someone was going out on the boat, count me in. Fireworks? Obviously.
Yesterday…
I slept.
Not because I wanted to. Because my body had already decided that was what we were doing.
The bone pain has been rough lately. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve felt it. It’s not like waking up sore after a workout. It’s like your body just… hurts. Every time you roll over. Every time you stand up. Even laying there isn’t exactly comfortable.
So I slept. I got up for a little while. I went back to sleep. I wandered into the living room. Back to bed again.
At one point I caught myself thinking, Well this is kind of a crappy Fourth of July.
Then I laughed because… maybe this is just what the Fourth of July looks like now.
As it got dark, Pete asked if I wanted to walk down to the beach for the fireworks.
Normally that wouldn’t even be a question. Of course I’d want to go.
Yesterday I actually had to think about whether I felt good enough to make the walk.
We took it slow. I don’t really have another speed these days anyway.
We found a spot, watched the fireworks for a while, and walked home.
That was the whole holiday.
And you know what?
I wasn’t disappointed.
I think that’s the part that surprised me the most.
Cancer has this way of quietly changing your expectations. Not overnight. It happens so slowly you don’t even notice it. One day you realize your idea of a good day has completely changed.
A good holiday used to mean doing as much as possible.
Now a good holiday means my pain lets up enough that I can leave the house for an hour.
It means making it to the fireworks.
It means getting home without feeling like I completely overdid it.
It’s strange, because if you had told the old version of me that this would be enough, she would’ve felt sorry for me.
The version of me writing this doesn’t.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d love one more Fourth of July where I wasn’t thinking about medications or whether walking a little too far would come back to bite me tomorrow. I’d love one where I wasn’t counting naps between doing things.
But sitting there last night, watching fireworks over the ocean, I realized something.
I wasn’t thinking about everything I couldn’t do.
I was just happy I made it.
I think that’s what illness does after a while. It doesn’t just change your body.
It changes what feels important.
I still love holidays.
They just look a little different now.
And honestly… different doesn’t always mean worse.
Sometimes it just means you finally learned that a good day doesn’t have to be a big day.
Sometimes making it there is the celebration.
If you’re new here, welcome to Mojo & The Mess. This blog is where I write about the reality of living with stage four cancer, the things that make me laugh, the things that don’t, and everything in between. If something here made you feel a little less alone, stick around. There are hundreds more stories waiting for you.
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