I wake up and feel great, as though everything has washed through.
Maybe I have a fast metabolism so everything hit hard, and then flushed
out. I am drinking tons of fluids and intend to do the walking today
which is so crucial.
I continue to see that when I stay in the moment, all is fine. Even
during the worst of the treatment when I could honor my heart and think
of all the support I am receiving, and remember to breathe, I really was
fine. I could watch the birds flying by, so, a zip a dee doo dah kind
of day for me today. The Lance Armstrong book is really helpful also.
When he speaks of his fear of cancer, he gives one definition of
" characteristic of
people as opposed to God or animals or machines, especially susceptible
to weakness, and therefore showing the qualities of man."
then continues, "Athletes don't tend to think of themselves in these
terms; they're too busy cultivating the aura of invincibility to admit
being fearful, weak, defenseless, vulnerable, or fallible, and for that
reason neither are they especially kind, considerate, merciful, benign,
lenient, or forgiving, to themselves or anyone around them. But
as I sat in my house alone that first night, (after learning he has
cancer) it was humbling to be so scared. More than that, it was
Perhaps that is one of the gifts of cancer - becoming more human.
After all, we are here as humans. I am grateful for the gift of
this, the chance to feel more deeply into even more aspects of being a
Thanks for listening, and being, and feeling your own vulnerabilities and fears.
I just checked in with the nurse assigned to me by Blue Shield. She asked if I had eaten anything since the treatment.
Well, what a statement for me! Have I eaten anything?
I had half a turkey sandwich and soup for lunch, apricots and an apple for snack, and a dinner of chicken and a sweet potato, followed by a protein drink with milk and banana.
Maybe that is why I am feeling so well today. I am going to try and get through without the anti-nausea medicine for now, as I see I am eating, and as long as I do that, and include a lot of protein, I feel well.
I know this is my experience, but I offer it as I know many of you know others going through this. Maybe the eating is flushing this stuff more rapidly through.
So, eat a good breakfast this morning, and I will too!
I think what Lance writes here with the aid of Sally Jenkins is helpful
to consider. I put it here though it is long. It is helpful to
me, and I hope, therefore, to you.
"What are my chances? It
was a question I would repeat over and over. But it was
irrelevant, wasn't it? It didn't matter, because the medical odds
don't take into account the unfathomable. There is no proper way
to estimate somebody's chances, and we shouldn't try, because we can
never be entirely right, and it deprives people of hope. Hope
that is the only antidote to fear.
Those questions, Why me? What are my chances? were
unknowable, and I would even come to feel that they were too
self-absorbed. For most of my life I had operated under a simple
schematic of winning and losing, but cancer was teaching me a tolerance
for ambiguities. I was coming to understand that the disease
doesn't discriminate or listen to the odds - it will decimate a strong
person with a wonderful attitude, while it somehow spares the weaker
person who is resigned to failure. I had always assumed if I won
bike races, it made me a stronger and more worthy person. Not so.
Why me? Why anybody? I was no more or
less valuable that the man sitting next to me in the chemo
center. It was not a question of worthiness.
What is stronger, fear or hope? It's an
interesting question, and perhaps even an important one.
Initially, I was very fearful and without much hope, but as I sat there
and absorbed the full extent of my illness, I refused to let the fear
completely blot out my optimism. Something told me that fear
should never fully rule the heart, and I decided not to be afraid.
I wanted to live, but whether I would or not was a
mystery, and in the midst of confronting that fact, even at that
moment, I was beginning to sense that to stare into the heart of
such a fearful mystery wasn't a bad thing. To be afraid is a
priceless education. Once you have been that scared, you know
more about your fraility that most people, and I think that changes a
man. (I add, a woman, too.) I was brought
low, and there was nothing to take refuge in but the philosophical:
this disease would force me to ask more of myself as a person than I
ever had before, and to seek out a different ethic.
A couple of days earlier, I had received an e-mail
from a military guy stationed in Asia. He was a fellow cancer
patient, and he wanted to tell my something: "You don't get it yet," he
wrote, "but we're the lucky ones."
I agree. : )
All of you out there take care of yourselves. I have Steve
soaking in the wonderful seaweed-arnica lotion I brought back from
London this summer. Chris used it last night, and I think Jeff
needs it also. You are are suffering with me. Bathe deeply
in your heart and mine. There is wealth to share, and we
must all care for the beauty and fragility in the blessing of living,
for now, in time. Expand your space and
breathe. We are ALIVE!!!! It's Celebration
Time!!! My song for today!!!
My nurse friend says if I am not nauseous, I don't need to take the
anti-nausea medicine. Hooray!! Side effects of
drowsiness will then ease. I should have some energy today, and
also, fatigue, but, at least, glorious movement is flourishing and
dancing in me.
in peace and joy,
When I first started reading Lance Armstong's book, I felt what he and I did not have in common was that he bicycled for the pain, he pushed himself to deal with pain, to relieve it; he enjoyed working with the pain. He bicyled for pain.
I feel I have preferred to work with pleasure. I bicycled for pleasure, not for pain. (not to put myself in his bicycling category.) I never exercised with the idea of "no pain, no gain." It made no sense to me.
I was only saying that I think he and I came to this from two different perspectives. I am greatly enjoying the book, and certainly admire him, but I never had that fire of anger in myself that motivated him. His mother was wonderful, but his early father figures were either non-existent, or violent, and certainly not helpful. I had two loving parents who adored me in every way. Where I was taught to take it easy and not to push, he was taught the opposite. I was simply trying to say that his words are helpful to me now, and I see that our backgrounds are very different. Probably why I have not won the Tour De France, and never had a desire to do so.
Anyway, Lance and I both have our strengths. We just manifest them in different ways.