Maybe not...

“Maybe not” is an emerging theme for me. Maybe I’ll go to the store, maybe I’ll make my bed, maybe I’ll dine with friends tonight, maybe I’ll get some work accomplished….and, maybe not. For the first time, I am learning to let it be. Screw guilt, I’ll get out of bed when my body is ready and finish reading the newspaper before checking email, loading the dishwasher, returning calls, raking the yard. I check in with my body and check in with my needs. On my bad days, I have MY permission to retreat, rest, and heal. On my good days, I simply do not want to work (completing jobs for others for billable hours), to move at my “usual” erratic, unfocused, frenzied, deadline-oriented pace. When I feel good I want to organize my house, garden, do laundry, cook and exercise—to create order and to handle the mundane but necessary chores of everyday life. These are the necessities I have considered a luxury in the past—the things that provide me with a calm, sane home and body. Oddly, on these good days, I can hardly bring myself to sit at the computer and complete jobs I have promised, face bills that must be paid, attempt the “to dos” that I have created on a never-ending list. Spring is here, the sun is shining and blooms are everywhere, and THIS, is really important stuff to absorb and enjoy.

I am done with chemotherapy.

I arrived at my last treatment session with my posse feeling positively celebratory—I wore a dress, my party wig and baked goodies for the other patients. The treatment session went as expected. As I was leaving I shared pleasantries with two women (one a patient, the other her support friend) and asked the usual question “how long are you in for?” The response from the patient was a sobering, “indefinitely.” It rang in my head for days. I can’t imagine knowing there is no end in sight for this strong, often debilitating drug treatment. The side effects linger longer each time, and vary with the particular chemo drug. Common side effects I have had include; fatigue, a metallic taste in the mouth and mouth sores, very tender fingernails, heart burn, runny eyes and nose, fluid retention, bleeding of the gums and nose, skin rash, and this time an unexpected "chemical" peel (dry and peeling face) my dermatologist will marvel at. But, I am done and I am again thankful that this is an unexpected side trip and not a permanent detour in life. I will now start healing.
Good news. I was led to believe I would have to wait 6 weeks between chemo and radiation but have now learned it’s only a four-week gap. I start down radiation road for 33 treatments (everyday except weekends) on April 2. The appointment is about 10 minutes (mostly getting me in position), with the actual radiation under two minutes. A week ago was a "mapping" session with a scan of some sort and a mold fitted to hold my arm and me in a consistent position. Also, I’ve been discretely tattooed (no flowers or butterflies) with two small dots for laser markers. The “mapping” allows the doctor to design the path of the radiation—deep enough to hit the area where the tumor was while curving up to avoid my heart and lung. I have to trust my doctor and this maneuver of precision. All is well.

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature.
Helen Keller