TMI 6 or 7 and the weight of time

It's been a good and full week in the medical realm. In the TMI category, I was able to go ahead with chemo last Friday (thank you, platelet count) and the dose was adjusted in hope of preventing future delays. Yet, the cumulative fatigue hit hard, and I continue to learn what 'more rest' can mean. So rest I did, and by the end of the week, I felt strong enough to make multiple appointments where I learned more about future treatments. Essentially, after I rest up from the April chemo rounds, I'll have another surgery (re-excision) late May to get definitively clearer margins around any cancer sites. Then after healing from that, mid-summer radiation will begin. I was relieved to hear that the Canadian protocol was recommended, which means 3 1/2 – 4 weeks (Monday – Friday daily treatments) instead of 6 weeks. Grateful to know there will be some windows in the summer calendar between all these things. The trajectory of the week was a good reminder, framed by the larger Holy Week story, that the light is even brighter after dark days. My blood draw today was unusually positive–Easter worship and family gatherings permitted!

I was struck by a passage in a book I've been reading (set in a 1500's convent) . . .”She thinks of time almost like a weight. She sees a set of scales, with the years like bags of salt on one side, balanced on the other by good works and prayers. . . . And does all time weigh the same?” That question, does all time weigh the same, filled my thoughts earlier in the week. Time in chemoland measures differently than 'normal time'. And how about time for the young college-age guy in the Badger hat who gets treatments when I do? His time appears miserable; what do his days weigh? How does his mom measure time as she sits with him?

Mostly, though I know better, my mind kept drifting to how quickly I'd feel stronger and be able to DO something. Soon, the scale will balance, right? I'll have rested 'enough' and when I do that sufficiently well, I can check rest off the list and get back to something, anything, productive. As much as I know that healing is job one right now, it's striking to me how deep is the sense that active time weighs more, or tips the scales more, than time spent sitting, resting, sleeping, praying. I could write on about how valuable I found my Renovare spiritual formation experience, a rich journey into the value of time given to solitude with God, or prayer, or time in Scripture. Time just being. Clearly the lesson needs ongoing practice. This week was a reminder of how much I can 'know' something, yet wrestle to live out that reality. Maybe learning time is the weightiest . . .

 

 

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Learning to roll with it . . .

Bummer. Jon took today off to join me for a chemo date, the first chance he's had to join in this part of the adventure. But low platelets mean I have to postpone for a week. This frustrates me for two reasons: I don't get done as quickly, and the current schedule fit as well as it could around Easter and Jon's 60th birthday. But this detour into chemoland is nothing if not an exercise in patience and learning to roll with unpredictable things.

It promises to be a gorgeous day today and tomorrow, and I will feel more energy to enjoy it. I guess I can't say I'm too tired for my favorite tasks (cough, cough), finishing the taxes and FAFSA. Only 1 FAFSA this year is another bonus. So after I vent a little more, it will become a strength-building week to embrace. Or just read a lot.

In a roundabout way, Jeremy gave me a good reminder this week. Skiing in a national collegiate Nordic meet in Lake Placid, he filled out a bio form that was read at the start of his first race. He thanked the usual, but also (in classic Jer humor) thanked the hockey coach who ended his high school skating career, because without that, he never would have found the great sport, and new love, of Nordic skiing. A perfect reminder for me that today's disappointment may hold unexpected blessings.

In the waiting room this morning, I found the above prayer in my journal. I received this at a mass for pilgrims the morning Erika and I set out on our pilgrimage and it was one of the few items I added to my pack. God continues to be shade, light, and relief and I couldn't navigate this without our good and almighty God. Erika and I often said, “Shade is our friend,” and Jesus is a steadfast friend through this pilgrimage too, often through the hands and hearts and words of you all, dear friends and family.

 

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Perspective

 

 

Perspective. I used to love art classes on perspective, maybe because I got to draw a lot of straight lines. My kind of art. I've been thinking a lot about perspective. As I wish away March and April and can hardly wait to be on the other side of the upcoming chemo treatments, I talk with Erika, who is relishing her senior spring at Luther and as her weeks fly by, she's trying to relish each class, friend, day, and campus life in general as she moves closer to graduation. Can one of us slow time and the other accelerate it? Eight months ago, she and I walked a substantial number of miles in a week on LeChemin, the early stage of the French trail toward Santiago, known to many as The Camino, or The Way. Yesterday, it seemed a feat for me to just walk a couple miles around the neighborhood. Perspective. The picture is from a guidebook Erika carried on trail; I loved looking at the upper page each day for a preview of the elevation we would hike, considering where we should fill our water bottles, choosing our goal destination for the night. As time has slowed for me, I wish for a life map like that–how will I feel today? What might my energy elevation be? Can I alter today's mileage? When is the next oasis? Map or no, the way forward is just one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Nothing too novel or interesting to report, but we are moving forward. Forward is good.

I entered into a couple customer service encounters Saturday and had the passing thought, “What if I ditch the head coverings and go with the full-on cancer patient look?” It's a pretty no-nonsense look, if you ask me. But yeah, that seemed pretty manipulative, so no, I didn't try it. (One stop was to buy a new phone and nowhere do I feel more taken advantage of than in phone stores.) I needn't have worried (or schemed) as both were smooth transactions. I've been graced with a nice string of these . . . An event I last fall offered to help host, for this coming day-after-chemo Saturday, which would've simply been too much for me, was cancelled. 🙂 When I bought an airline ticket last fall for an April trip to England that I've had to cancel, I purchased flight insurance, something I never do. Without hassle, my money was refunded. Perspective points me to see plentiful silver linings in this cloudy season.

 

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