I woke feeling healthy and happy and content. Then, Steve and I talked and, now that he is back, he wants to complain about the treatment I received last week. I tell him that everyone understands and has apologized and it won’t happen again, for anyone.
Then, I talk to Jane, and I feel how frightened I am.
I see the surgeon today. I’m hoping she will approve chemo tomorrow., and let me know what was determined in the group meeting as to further surgery
After five hours of the chemo world tomorrow, I meet with the radiation oncologist, who seems unable to comprehend that that is too much for a day, and that I was hoping to leave my final chemo and celebrate as the Benadryl wore off, and before the affects set in.
So, in my free-write of this morning, this is what comes. I also find it interesting the colors of ink I choose this morning. Red and purple. I feel bloody, sad, and bruised.
there is a place in us
where no matter how open we might feel
and trusting of the universe
which has always held us in an open palm,
there still is a place that knows that palm can close,
and make a fist,
and yes, there is a place to fight,
and there is also a place to cry -
and so I float down
held in that open palm
and walk along the stream
and into the trees
where I don’t know what is there -
I don’t know what is there,
and I am scared -
I have managed all I’ve met
and today the forest seems dark
and close -
I can only enter alone -
I know you all are here,
and I can only enter alone,
and there, is fear.
I’m not sure why I feel alone today. All through this I have felt such support, and maybe it is the fear of the radiation machine. I envision it as huge, though I haven’t actually seen it. I think today I don’t understand. I think when I feel well like this, and happy and content, I think, well, then, why all of this. What is going on? I look out on a beautiful day, and tears gather, like clouds. My body, mind, and spirit don’t understand.
I want to see the movie Joyeaux Noel which is about the Christmas truce in the trenches during WWI. I hear it is graphically violent. I realize, at one time, that would really have bothered me, but maybe right now, I feel violated enough, it won’t. I don’t know. I will see.
So, I write all of this and then, talk to Jane. She reads me a wonderful article from the Chronicle yesterday which I will post. I also read the Chronicle this morning. The average life span for those born in 1950, and I was born in 1949, is 68.2 years. Thirty years ago, breast cancer was an automatic death sentence. That isn’t so now, as we know, but I think today mortality is up for me, and that is okay. It just allows me to appreciate this day even more. May your day be as precious as if it were your last, for, I see that is the only way to live. Take care, and bounce, or not!