Okay, fine. I’ll wear leggings.

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall - F. Scott Fitzgerald

Today is a crisp, fall day. Usually that would be followed with exclamation points and the stars emoji, but I’m just not feeling it today. Instead I’m feeling grumbly. I have to go to a follow up appointment, and as usual, it’s one of those appointments. It’s 54 degrees outside, but I still had to shave my legs. Well, I guess I didn’t have to, but I felt the need to in order to not be judged by some ridiculous beauty/womanhood standard. Even while recovering from surgery. I may still be bold and rock the no bra look I’ve adopted the last week and a half though.

It’s not what I am not going to wear that is really getting me down however, instead it’s “WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR?” I know, go ahead and put me back in that typical woman box now. I am usually so excited about sweaters and layers and boots and pants, but pants are SO not my friend after this surgery. I mean, not any that I really consider to be pants. I am still firmly in the “leggings are not pants” camp. I was hoping the trend would just go away, but apparently it’s here for awhile. I am left with the option of wearing a dress or a skirt that will leave me feeling cold, and frankly, just not practical when you have an appointment with a gynecologist, or comfy, stretchy, non-pants like leggings.

Karl Lagerfeld is reported to have said “Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life so you bought some sweatpants.” Well, I’m admitting defeat. I’m not going to say that I’ve never worn leggings out of the house because I did when I was pregnant. However, I was never truly comfortable in them no matter how long the top. I’m grumbly because I have to wear leggings in public. Something that many women would deem worthy of exclamation points and the stars emoji.

I started to think that maybe I could get away with wearing a trench over a not so flattering outfit just to get me out the door to my appointment, a la Lorelai Gilmore. Although, instead of cutoffs I’d be hiding leggings and a not quite long enough top. The thought of being able to wear the trench my mom had brought me when I had surgery did lift my spirits and gave me enough energy to try and “make it work.” After trying top after top, and even reaching into my husband’s closet to find something with a more ample hemline, I settled on a dress over leggings. Done. And then I collapsed back into bed because getting dressed is really all it takes to wear me out these days. Now, don’t feel sorry for me. That just gives more time to watch clips of my favorite moments from Gilmore Girls, like this one. Enjoy!


Lost & Found

I thought about it from time to time, recalling only that I
had been dwelling in a Psalm before I received THE call. Through so many moves,
I imagined that it was gone forever, or buried so deep that it may as well be.
My journal, that is. The journal that I was doodling it just before I received
a call saying that my cancer was gone. 
Days after my surgery I could not get up
and dance after receiving the good news, but I rejoiced from my perch on my
bed. Oh, did I rejoice. That Psalm–the one I didn’t even finish committing to
paper before the phone rang–says, “All the ways of the LORD are loving and
faithful toward those who keep the demands of his covenant.” That would be
Psalm 25:10. I wrote it down that day because I had such an overwhelming peace
in my soul when I came upon it. A peace that carried me through surgery to
remove an 8 lb tumor on my right ovary, a peace that told me, “This thing
that’s happening here, it’s really going to be okay. I am with you.” I
knew. Before the call, I knew. I knew that this call would come and they would
say, “No more cancer. It’s all gone.” And now, 12 years later, I found
the journal. I was looking through a box of books in preparation for a garage sale,
and there it was. The myth was made real. I didn’t imagine its existence. So
I’m sharing it with you all, and I’m doing that dance that I didn’t get to do
12 years ago.