Feeling Fine and Dancing Delicately

The first week of chemotherapy went so much better than I anticipated.   I had set strong intentions of feeling well and staying strong, but a part of me reserved a space for possibly having to bag on commitments and lay low.  I'm so grateful that was not necessary.  Thursday, I had a regular workday and did my first gym workout since having the port surgery (I took it a little easy on both weight load and intensity, but otherwise felt pretty normal and happy to be breaking a sweat).  

Now it's Friday: a chilly, rainy Veterans' Day and I'm enjoying some snuggle-time with Jet Dog, one of my good buddies who will accompany me and some gal pals on the hike and bike trail in the morning.  I am embracing the change of season, the time change, this very moment and the miracle of life, while reflecting on the heavy reality of death.   Last weekend I attended the wake of a wonderful man and the dear husband of my beautiful friend Amanda.  Earlier that same week I learned of the tragic death of another dear friend's brother.  These incidents following the sudden death of yet another dear friend’s son a few weeks prior and I’ve since learned of one more young man: a father, grandfather, son and brother, peacefully passing.  

So, while I'm celebrating feeling good after this first round of treatment, I'm also saddened by loss and trying to best honor the memories of those the world and the folks still on it have lost.  

The delicate dance of living fully, presently, honorably and joyfully without clinging or grasping to anything or anyone, is truly a tricky thing.  I haven't quite figured out how to do it, but am happy I'm here still getting the opportunity to dig in and try.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Lucky #3

Breathing came a little easier after hearing Dr. Patt declare the cancer is only at stage three, that it definitely hasn't spread to any other areas of my body.  Now begins the task of shrinking the tumors, so the surgical procedure is easier and has a higher success rate.   Next week I will begin a twelve-week chemotherapy protocol of a drug named Taxol.  Every Wednesday for the next twelve weeks from 8am - noon I will have this cancer-killing cocktail infused into my bloodstream, where it takes 24 hours for the drug to do its work and leave my system.  After three months of Taxol, I begin a biweekly treatment of Doxorubicin (Adriamycin) + Cyclophosphamide (Cytoxan) together called AC.  After two months of AC infusions, I get to have a month or so of recovery before facing surgery.  (I'm hoping by then they find not one cancerous cell left in my body and surgery won't be necessary...magical moe-thinking, perhaps, but I'm praying for it anyway.)  ...
Read more

Cinco de Mayo

The silver linings of the rollercoaster cancer ride keep showing up: my PET scan was beautifully clean; no further lymph node removal is needed! I'm still riding the high on this piece of information, spoken to me a few days ago, by the new doctor in my life.   (I wanted to pick him up and swing him around the little exam room, but his feet would've knocked Francine over.)  I kept my cool, somewhat, and only gushed about my relief over this good news, and I'm pretty sure I was jumping up and down. Just before meeting Dr. Nuesch, I experienced white-coat syndrome.  My pulse rate was as high as you'd want it to be if you were engaging in aerobic exercise (though I felt fine, desiring to run out the door, and all the way to Terlingua).  Francine was probably close to pulling out her phone again and playing more Sanskrit chanting music to try and help me calm down.  The nurse had me deep breathing, and after a bit the pulse rate went from 130 down to 110, up again, ...
Read more

Sixteenth and Final Chemotherapy Session

Last Friday's final session was a happy ending to a celebratory week, one that welcomed my youngest brother, Brian, to town for a short visit before returning Mom back to Kansas just after the ringing of the bell at Texas Oncology, which was the best two-minute party I've ever had.   Complete with many radiant faces, confetti-throwing and congratulations all around, it was the perfect culmination of Mom's time here in Austin, caring for her eldest daughter, and also the commencement of a new chapter for her, and for our family: returning to our hometown and into her own, new nest, in a retirement community just a few miles from the house we've called home since 1983, when we moved as a family of eight, from Kearney, Nebraska to Clay Center, Kansas.  My siblings are faced with the lion's share of work required to clear the house and prepare it for sale, and I'm sorry I won't be able to be there to help, also a little sad I won't be able to see it one last...
Read more