Keep Going
8.23.2021
In April, I started new medication. As the side effects set in, my writing voice slowly went mute. By the time summer arrived, I didn’t even try to write anymore.
Today, I’m back. I stand squarely in a season of abundance. Tomatoes pile up on the countertop. Fruits wait to be preserved. Kale, cabbage, broccoli, Swiss chard, onions, green beans, beets, garlic, cucumbers and zucchini await my tardy harvest. Despite drought, they take what little I give them and keep growing.
Over summer I experienced two different combinations of cancer treatments. The first hit me hard. I pushed back with daily exercise and as much positivity as I could muster but it won in the end by pulling down my spirit. I did not feel like myself at all. Without me I just wasn’t me, and that wasn’t sustainable. It turns out I can’t do cancer treatment or life when I don’t feel like myself for a long time. So, we switched to a new plan. Not perfect but much more tolerable, I felt like a person again; my spirit returned. It is easier to ignore the unpleasantries of cancer treatment when I feel like myself.
I had a regular cancer check-up and PET scan last week. My cancer is slowly growing. There is cancer in the lymph nodes near my collar bones and in one lumbar of my spine. Fluid is accumulating around my left lung and more fluid is present around my heart. I will take radiation therapy for my spine, a procedure to drain fluid from my lung, a lymph node biopsy, and at my doctor’s request, seek another opinion for what medication to try next.
My amazing oncologist told me this is not an emergency. It is growing slowly. It will not kill me. Not yet. We are looking for the right recipe to stop my cancer. I am grateful that he always remembers I am a person and treats me as such. On top of that, nurses offer me hugs. Lab techs help me laugh through tears. My favorite scheduler fixes my treatment calendar to be as easy as possible. Love filters through every interaction.
I am home now. Love lingers here, too. Hugs and sweetness mingle with the drive of everyday life with children. I honor this moment. I stop. I breathe deeply. I am grateful. I thirst for remission. Despite drought, I use what I am given and keep going.