Cancaversary 6-3-1

Six years ago, I was enjoying the trip of a lifetime. Six years ago, I had a double mastectomy, followed by eighteen months of mental fog brought on by that damn shot (the hormone treatment I was given in lieu of traditional chemo).

Three years ago, Kate was poised to graduate. She had a job lined up in California, she was ready to write her thesis. Three years ago, she had a double mastectomy, followed by chemo and a bunch of months of chemo brain which left her unable to think well enough to write her thesis.

One year ago, Libby was living her normal life. Kids, husband, house, job. One year ago, Libby had chemo, followed by a double mastectomy, followed by chemo.

Cancer has a way of disrupting plans.

But we are still here.

Libby's cancer came roaring back during the recent holidays, but the brain tumor was operable, and they pulled it out and gave her more good days. She is on chemo (again!) to quash the spot they found in her lungs. No guarantees, of course, but when I last saw her, she had managed to conquer her fear, and is making the best use she can of the days she has. (My fingers are crossed. I am willing her chemo to work again, to chase the demon away - far, far away! Go, Libby!)

Kate's cancer has stayed away, and her brain was finally able to dispel the fog after about eighteen months. She left Minnesota, took the California job which was still waiting for her, got back to work and finished her thesis last month. She defended it last week, almost exactly three years after she first planned the defense. Congratulations, Dr. Kate!!!!!

And my cancer is still bay, near as I can tell. Dreams of resuming my trip are starting to resurface; I've been spending time mulling what they look like now. Another camper van? A different (less expensive) type of camper? Travel overseas? Some combination of the above?

Cancer has a way of sharpening focus.

Detours notwithstanding, we have all found the same silver lining in this disease.

We know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, we are loved.

Good Is.

February. Sunshine.

I long ago made my peace with February's bleak, cold and gray days. I learned to appreciate the beauty of the sleeping trees, revel in the sharp blue of the momentarily clear skies.

But this year, I decided to try a new tack.

My daughter moved to the Los Angeles area last spring. I was looking for work then, and couldn't get out there. Then the wedding and the new job happened, and I couldn't go then, either. Over the holidays, she was working to finish her thesis, and didn't need me there distracting her.

The holidays are past, the thesis is finished (?!!!), and so I made reservations to head on out to California for the first two weeks of February. When I got on the plane in Kansas City, it was in the lower thirties. When I got off that evening in Los Angeles, it was fifty-something.

Google maps did a pretty darn good job of guiding me up to her place. My theory of, when driving in six solid lanes of traffic, stay to the middle right, also served me well. (at six o'clock on a Saturday evening, the freeway was solid cars. That's a LOT of people with somewhere to go...)

And the next morning, I got up to a forecast of 75 and sunny. It gets down into the upper forties at night here, it IS February after all, but the days have been delightful.

Some days it's been downright warm.
Some days, it's been cool, but on those days, the sun has still beamed down, which makes for a delightful crisp, cool, warm feeling I love.

I still need to work during the day, I don't have any vacation time built up just yet, but I get to do it at the kitchen table, able to look out when my computer pauses to see the hills and the sunshine.

The trip has been good for my soul. It's been wonderful to finally get to see where my baby bird landed; to meet some of her friends, to get a sense of her days. It's been wonderful to walk in the sunshine at lunchtime; to feel the warmth on my face, to know the promise of the coming spring.

Stop.  Breathe.  Relax.