People think that just because I was sick and got over it that nothing small in my life ever gets to me. That unless it's something hugely monumental happening, it has no effect.
Let me assure you, that is not the case.
People email me all the time and preface by saying, "you probably think I'm crazy or overreacting, compared to all you went through," and sometimes, yeah, you might be overreacting, but hey, sometimes I hyperventilate too.
And it doesn't make me a shallow person. It makes me normal.
Yes, five years ago I was fighting for my life, but now I'm living my life. And part of life are the frustrating little bits that can bring me to tears a lot faster than chemo did.
For example, (and if anyone dares to laugh at my misery, I will ban you from reading this blog,) take Sunday.
I was up Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights with my baby who is teething (yet again). Motzai Shabbos we were at an all time record where I was up six times between one and four in the morning and then up at six for the day.
At three thirty I ran out with my mother and sister, leaving the husband with both kids so that I could go to my last gown fitting before the brother's wedding.
Guess what. The gown don't fit.
I don't know if it was just made wrong, taken in wrong, or I'm built wrong, but that thing didn't look right no matter what we did.
I am not a picky person when it comes to these things, and spent the next two hours trying on 25 other dresses. Nothing doing.
Everything was too big or too fluffy or too nightgowny-looking, and almost all of them made me look thirteen. In fact, when my mother saw some girl trying on a stunning gown that she thought I'd look nice in, the girl was thirteen.
When after two hours, at closing time,I still had no gown, I threw a temper tantrum in the gown place.
I know, real mature.
I was sobbing all over some huge fluffy dress at how I was up since some unholy hour and now I was going to look ugly at my brother's wedding and no one cared and I just wasn't going to come, and I hated looking like I was still in high school...you get the picture.
So in a last-minute-no-choice-in-the-matter decision, we ran to another bridal shop that rents for DOUBLE the amount I was spending before (and it was NOT cheap to begin with, mind you!) and within fifteen minutes rented another gown.
I still came home and cried all night.
What? I'm entitled to want to feel pretty at the wedding! I never got to wear a gown before! I missed most of my sister's wedding to give birth to JB and I was really looking forward to being pretty next week.
One of the things I learned when I was sick was that no one has it easy. It doesn't matter that I had Hodgkins' and that my friend had a brain tumor, we were both suffering. Who's to say that one of us suffered more? How would you know?
Sure, crying about dresses might have seemed petty to me when I was bald and attached to an IV pole all the time, but hey, I would have given anything to be so innocent. I'd have loved for the most devastating thing in my life to be about a dress.
So I'm going to take this whole gown fiasco as an excuse to be grateful. I'm so happy that I'm at a time in my life where I can cry over a silly gown. I'm healthy, I have two cutie kids, a wonderful husband (who made my daughter a bottle with RICE instead of FORMULA)and in the end, a great gown to dance in at that wedding.
I used to feel awkward around those "shallow" people in my life, but for once, I can appreciate being one of them.
(what JB is wearing to the wedding. Couldn't resist.)