Yesterday, while I read, napped, walked, danced with my sister and watched a movie, Cliff took on two major demo projects to get us ready for upcoming renovation work on a new pantry and a new laundry room. For us, the day was meaningful, therapeutic and forward looking.
You see, when faced with my diagnosis, among the early conversations Cliff and I had regarded steps on how we deal with the immediate future:
- Who do we tell, when? Thank you, Cliff for making all those first phone calls.
- Who will help with the dogs? Thank you Craig, Martha and Lois.
- Where can I get the best care? Sloan Kettering? MD Anderson? Mayo? Something closer to home? -- Still making that decision.
- And how about our big, already scheduled home renovation projects?
We quickly decided to keep pressing forward with our home projects. We need them (if you ever visited our combined laundry/storage room, you understand). We want them (they will harmonize form and function at our place). And in some ways, these projects are a sort of metaphor for the unexpected journey:
The projects: We are demolishing the inefficient parts of two rooms, parts that slow down our ability to get things done (old and cramped cabinetry, too small and limited function washer/dryer, etc.) We are tracking renovation timelines and progress toward achieving our goals of increased functionality and improving the enduring quality of our existing structure. We're excited and have a bright outlook of improvement!Progress: I'm walking over a mile each morning with my sister (approaching two miles at this point) -- recovering with speed and strength from my colon resection surgery. I found out today that the oncological surgeon at UNM Comprehensive Cancer Center already has reviewed my case (still have to get that cancerous mass out of my liver), and says he wants to review my CT scan again after two months of chemo (that's a big yay -- no indication that surgery is too tricky to try to manage at UNM (and the surgeon has a fabulous CV and reputation)). Saw my primary care doc today and the overall focus continues to be making sure I am as strong and prepared as possible before chemo starts. Continued focus is on helping me to gain some weight (no worries, my sister, Deb, and hubby are on the case). I have plenty of appetite, just can't manage too much food in any one sitting, so I am eating five mini meals a day (with scads of healthy fats).
Me: I already have begun to visualize the strength and power of the post-cancer me. Since I walked 200 miles just before my diagnosis, how fast and far will I be able I go in the future? It's an exciting prospect. Me: tougher, stronger and more powerful (an improvement on the existing structure 😉). I can't wait!
Blog update: When I started this blog, I committed to including a cancer fact every day. While on some days, I may include a relevant fact that informs and educates, I've decided not to do this regularly. The facts to be mined from the medical community and national cancer organizations can be a little overwhelming. The only night I couldn't sleep since coming home was after a visit to the Colon Cancer Alliance website, where there's an abundance of information on research, risk factors and survival rates. At the end of the day, I can only be me -- not necessarily generalize-able to all or any of the information available. As my pal Malissa pointed out: Even the survival rates don't organize information into any individual survivor's starting level of fitness . . .. How do I begin to understand how the data may or may not apply to me? I've decided not to try.
Quote of the day:
I can hardly wait for tomorrow, it means a new life for me each and every day.~Stanley Kunitz
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| The sun rising on a new and beautiful day at 21 Chisholm Trail |
VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!
I may speak for others when I say that I've needed time to absorb, digest, and cohere my response to the words I've been reading here, some of which I've lived through. (To anyone not on the scene, let me say that Donna looks perversely radiant: a tad in need of as many quality calories as she can stomach; slightly weary, as if she just got in from a transatlantic flight; but overall, really healthy. And beautiful. Those eyes, that gentle smile... and those gams!)
ReplyDeleteDonna, I've been speed-reading my birthday book, Erling Kagge's "Walking," a tale of eddies and byways. Tonight I read the passage about Kierkegaard musing that every human being "stands at the crossroads" and that everything we do is somehow transcendent, a new beginning [able to change the world].
Most of us spend our days swatting flies, rather than feeling ourselves at crossroads, poised to change the world. You're less that way than I am Donna, but even for you this is a bracing new vista. Out for a trek, the ground changed beneath you. You were walking in Wales and ended up on The Devil's Path in upstate New York--steep, slippery and not at all what you were expecting.
Yet you are a world-class trekker, my friend. From soul to soles. And I am honored to know you at this new beginning. I wish you were already on the other side, letting your blisters heal, but here we are. I know I speak for many when I say we are here to be your walking sticks, your water gals and more as you make your way on this journey. With great love, Malissa.