I had some really good stuff in my head the other day to post on my blog, but thought I could save it there until tonight. I think I may have forgotten it, but I'll post what I have to say now.
My 2 year "anniversary" has come and gone. Not without observation or reflection. As I have mentioned in the past, the whole process was initiated by 3 coworkers who sat me down in our conference room at work and pleaded with me to go to the emergency room. I gave them all a card last year on the one year anniversary and gave them another one this year. It matters to me to do it and I think it doesn't hurt to remind them of what a magnificent thing they did. Yesterday was the two year anniversary of meeting my oncologist. Ditto. I gave her a humorous anniversary card that spoke to how she and I interact. She, too, needs to be reminded of her accomplishment. I had every intent of leaving it with the receptionist at her office, but the folks there insisted I hand it to her in person. As I spoke to her she said, "You look great!" Told her I should make a sign and hang it on my forehead that reads, "Remission by Dr. ######." She laughed.
I talked to some of the other folks there about my puzzlement about how to interact with other cancer patients in a group setting... TIME OUT! IT ALL COMES BACK TO ME NOW. THIS IS WHAT I WANTED TO SHARE....
When I started the blog, it was about keeping others posted of what was going on. A way to communicate without being on the phone all day. Now, it has become a reflection and introspection device. I'm good with that.
I look back and realize I had a relatively easy time of it physically and mentally. There were times of discomfort, physically and mentally. It blows my mind when those in the know, medically, tell me that I had a pretty aggressive chemotherapy treatment process. Some have labeled it as "the big guns." As I listen to other former patients speak, I have discovered one disconnect I have with them. The ones that react the most emotionally when they tell their stories are the ones who were married and had spouses and/or children. They had to deal with "What happens to them if I die?" I had to face some of that, but I also knew that I wouldn't be leaving anyone behind with whom I shared the same living space.
Early in the process, the Associate Pastor of my church (at the time) came to visit me in the hospital. Since I had recently joined the church, we weren't really all that well acquainted with each other. While visiting me she asked, most sincerely, "How are you doing?" I replied, "Christy, I'm going to be fine. However, if I don't make it, I have the most amazing memorial service already planned." She shook her head and replied, "I hope it doesn't come to that." Inside, I think she was wondering, "How did I draw the short straw to visit this guy?"
So maybe that's it. I didn't have the pressure that others in a different circumstance do. There are times I was grateful that there wasn't someone else who had to share the burden of my "sabbatical", day in and day out. Other times, I wished that there was someone around more often. One of those times was the first couple days after my first chemo treatment. "Should I call the hospital because my temperature seems to be spiking, or should I wait for it to pass?" Another was when I was allowed to be left alone for the first time after being released from MCV. It took a couple of days to be comfortable with it.
However, those who did come in to my life during the whole process were truly messengers and "enlighteners." Because of that experience, I have a new theological belief about how heaven will be established on earth. I like it and I'm comfortable with it.
"Don't you ever doubt it?" Davy asked.
And in fact I have. And perhaps will again. But here is what happens. I look out the window at the red farm--for here we live, Sara and I, in a new house across the meadow, a house built by capable arms and open lungs and joyous sweat. Maybe I see our daughter, home from school, picking plums or apples for Roxanna; maybe one of our sons. reading on the grass or painting an upended canoe. Or maybe Sara comes into the room--my darling Sara--with Mr. Cassidy's beloved rolls on a steaming plate. Then I breathe deeply, and certainty enters into me like light, like a piece of science, and curious music seems to hum inside my fingers.
Is there a single person on whom I can press belief?
No sir.
All I can do is say, Here's how it went. Here's what I saw.
I've been there and am going back.
Make of it what you will."
— Leif Enger
Stay tuned...............
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