It's Raining Pain and Beauty

The last few weeks have been a bit hectic for me. We decided to end my trial participation due to tumor growth (about a cm on each of my 2 largest tumors, which are in my lungs) and to start a new course of chemo. As I waited for the insurance approval to pour a new kind of poison into my body, I felt a little sorry for myself. I felt, in fact, like the guy in Flowers for Algernon. You know that book? The main character, a mentally disabled man named Charlie, is chosen for surgery to increase his intelligence, but the effects eventually wear off and his cognitive abilities revert to their original state. The worst part is that he knows it's going to happen. I'm no Charlie, but standing at the side of the proverbial pool after 8 months of swimming along chemo-free (no chemo brain, no toxic fug, no being able to smell chemicals on my skin, etc.), I was exquisitely aware of what I was walking away from - and back into. It gave me the shivers.

And then I started my new chemo, and it hasn't been a walk in the park. The merry-go-round of nausea, digestive issues, fixes for the nausea leading to terrible headaches and more digestive issues has begun. The air tastes toxic. My jaws hurt at the hinges and my saliva burns when I take a bite of something. My tear ducts sting. The list goes on but how much does anyone want to hear it? Hell, I don't even want to hear it, and it's MY list. Le sigh.

So I've been trying to focus on the good and the great. Bloodwork today showed that my WBC and platelets are still in terrific shape, which was not the case in the past. My mom changed the sheets on my bed on Tuesday, and walking into a room smelling like fresh linen is a dream (and then dropping into the soft pillows and blankie! Ahhhh...). I managed to rouse myself enough to visit one of my former students' classroom on 9/11 and gave some lectures to her kids; to see her successful and beloved by her peeps was so amazing and wonderful that my heart started hurting (in a good way!). My mother in law sent me chocolate. Dozens of FB friends cheered me on when I had to go to the hospital clinic yet AGAIN. One of my favorite people sent me socks that look like library check out cards (could anything be better?!). I got to pull one of my son's teeth (a favorite pastime)! I haven't felt as tired as I did on immunotherapy. 

There's so much more. So much! Prayers and dinners and random acts of kindness. A book club meeting just yesterday where no one missed a beat when I dragged my crabby, disheveled, cantankerous (or is it "CAT-tankerous"?) self into a giant comfy chair in the corner and kept getting up (or kept "letting" the hostess get up) and microwaving the heat pack I was using on my various aches and pains. I looked a little - and felt a lot - like Chemo Cat.

This cat isn't happy about it, but she's taking care of business. This is now my official chemo mascot. Chemo Cat, you give me all the feels. 

In short, I was saved by many angels once again. Thank you all for keeping me tottering along.

My stormy weeks have been somewhat in sync with the national weather, which has been sort of interesting (and also a teeny, teeny bit excellent because it brought me Chemo Cat).  I've watched the hurricanes and their astonishing capacity for destruction roll across the Caribbean and through the US, leaving the kind of devastation that only seems familiar to Americans because we've seen it in films or read it in apocalyptic novels. (And while we here in the States were riveted by Harvey and Irma, South Asian countries experienced flooding that affected over 40 MILLION and killed thousands in India, Bangladesh, Myanmar.) 

But I've also watched as people did what people do: pop right back up and keep going despite the gargantuan tasks before so many. And I've cheered to myself as those in need received love and assistance from friends, neighbors, family - even from absolute strangers!  Tackling arduous tasks is so much easier when you have people there asking to share the burden, even a little bit. 

So, yeah. I can't help but compare these events to my own situation (I know that's very self-centered of me; I'm not suggesting my own troubles approximate other people's tragedies or that my own experience is in any way more important).  I mean, living with advanced cancer isn't as exciting and glamorous as it sounds, after all. I mean, I did get my very own Chemo Cat. And YES, I do have access to free scrubs anytime I really need them. Also, they DO give me toasty warm blankets from a special warmer at the hospital whenever I have a procedure or an infusion, and it's true that I basically have a golden ticket that gives me unending refills of anti-anxiety meds. I also don't want to brag - but I do have my very own oxygen bar 24/7, which really gives me a nice glow. But! Despite all of those perks, I'd still take full health in a heartbeat. 

The thing is, though, I don't have a choice. Just like the people who went to bed in Florida after watching Harvey spin through Texas and thought how awful it would be to deal with 6 feet of water in your house and then discovered 10 days later that they had 5 feet of water and a croc in the kitchen, sometimes things just happen. It's how we react, though, that sets the course of what comes next. And so we all plod squishily through the downpours and tornadoes and storm surges that life brings our way, pausing now and then to hold on for dear life to those we love the most and with a little time when we most need it to humbly accept the comforts and assistance that others offer. And then we head back into the storm. Because even though it's far from over, we have sacred work to do before we each can rest.