The Light Between Oceans

It's been a while, because my brain has been too scattered to focus on an actual book, but I like to post recent book reviews I've written, especially when the book in some way intersects with the rest of my life. Today, The Light Between Oceans:

If you're looking for a book to break your heart a little, this is the one to read. A sweet young couple pines for a family as they live alone on a lighthouse island, and one day, fate plays its hand and brings them a baby, which they decide to keep. The decision to do so winds up destroying their quiet and isolated lives. 

Is it a happy ending? I don't know. Is it a heart-true and lovely story? Yes, absolutely. It's very easy to put yourself into the positions of the various protagonists, and every avenue is an awful one, with agonizing consequences. I was pleasantly surprised that the story stayed strong all the way to the end, after the obviously discovered denouement. That's difficult to achieve, but Stedman manages it beautifully. The imagery of lighthouses, nature, innocence, and oceans will not easily leave your thoughts, even if you're living a landlocked existence like I am. 

Truly an enjoyable and touching book in my mind - and I don't really like to find myself in the middle of poignant stories. But I'd gladly read this one again, just for the opportunity to be out there in the middle of the deep blue sea. Four stars.

I was thinking about this book, especially the title, this weekend as I lay around in bed suffering from a bad cold and trying not to panic - having a cold or fever makes me crazy. I am not full of energy anyway lately, due to the radiation and my persistent low blood counts (low platelets and persistent anemia = lots of naps). You'd think I'd be used to the anemia, at least - I've had it since my liver resection over a year ago - but nope, I still get tired. 

Tangent: Please do not tell me to eat meat to improve my counts. It doesn't really work anyway, and besides, my nutritionist affirmed that eating less meat is actually better for you when it comes to overall health - which I, as a pescatarian, found quite reassuring.  Also, don't tell me that vigorous exercise will help me "snap out of" my lack of energy. I try to walk at least 3 miles a day and am getting back into my yoga routine, but anemia and low platelets lead to bona fide exhaustion, and I have to save a lot of my energy for my family, especially my two little people, who deserve a mom who at least can play board games and make dinner rather than one they have to cover with blankets and tiptoe past because she fell asleep (again!) on the couch.  

The bottom line is this: I only have so many spoons! If you've never heard of the "spoon theory" before, please, take the time to read this article - probably the only time in the history of the world that you'll see me recommending you read something that suffers from significant editorial deficiencies, but it's spot on for describing life with a variety of illnesses, including cancer. Right now, I have many more spoons than I did, say, 2 months ago, when I was finishing a course of chemotherapy, but I am nowhere near having the number of spoons I had before I was diagnosed, and colds or flus immediately knock about half of my spoons out of my hand. Ugh.

But I wasn't thinking about spoons this weekend. I was thinking about islands and oceans. Now that my radiation sessions are over, I'm living on a bit of an island myself. I'm free of many of the immediate cares and concerns that have haunted me over the past 18 months but in their place, there's a terrible anxiety that shows up without warning. Although I hate recurrence and treatment and doctor visits and all the rest, at least there's a feeling that experts are on the job and something's being DONE. Now it's just me, and I have to figure out what to do in order to make myself feel as though I'm being proactive. So far, September has basically been one big nap. I've been eating (and drinking!) what I please and napping like a narcoleptic. But obviously, my body needs a lot of rest. It's been a long 18 months.  Unwinding is a lot more difficult than it should be. And every little ache and pain sends me to a somewhat hysterical place. Blech.

The good news: there's so much beauty and so much love here on my island that it goes a long way towards mitigating the knowledge that my future feels perilous.  My kids cuddle and snuggle me, and my husband loves and adores me, and my parents check on me multiple times a week. And that's just for starters! So as I gaze out at the misty horizon that is the rest of the year, shivering and wondering all the while, it's so comforting to know that I have a legion of family and friends just waiting to wrap me in a blanket and warm me up.  (Can you tell it's raining here?)