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| The Journey of Cancer, Ovarian Cancer |
Scooting off the elevator, Coco sensed the fear mounting up inside, as if she were stepping onto a scary ride at the fairgrounds. This office represented something of significance, a beginning of a new world, a reality check, a reminder of how fragile her life really was. She took a deep breath, worked to shrug off her thin emotions, and hid the trepidation--at least in front of all these people.
Standing at the check in, feeling the metal staples on her belly, she thought of the metal bumps as something like icing over the top of a trying event. And the resulting scar would not be a post-it note of fear, but a beautiful tattoo, and a tool for teaching. So she asked,
what will it teach me? That seemed unclear for now--though it was getting clearer by the day. Even in the two weeks since her surgery, strength had
grown inside her soul. There had been tangible positive leaps.
More inner determination, perhaps. Her prayer life had taken on a whole new meaning—it
rolled non-stop—her war room was fully activated. The threat of losing her life, of not seeing future grandkids, had forced her to reorganize her priorities and made her emphasize pieces
of her life that had up until now been allowed to atrophy.
