Rough Start

My twenty sessions of radiation got off to a rough start last week.

They did a simulation the day before I was to actually start radiation, to make sure they'd measured everything correctly. As part of the treatment, there is a customized plastic mold they put over my head (it covers my head, but not my face). The mask is strapped to the table, holding my head immobile in order to ensure my throat stays out of the line of fire. They're radiating the lymph nodes right next to my esophagus, so while I'm not fond of having my head held down, I am all about doing all that can be done to keep stray body parts out of the path of the destructive rays.

Unfortunately, they cranked down on the mask a bit too tightly, compressing the back of my skull into the underlying support. I didn't know what I was or wasn't supposed to feel; I wasn't expecting to be comfortable - but when I stood up I felt as if the back of my skull was asleep. The sensation quickly resolved into a dizzying pulse. Not painful, but definitely also not right. I had to sit for a moment or three before I felt steady enough to drive. 

Fortunately, rest helps. 

While they have been careful not to overcrank the mask since, the damage was done, and I've been fighting waves of dizziness all week, in addition to the expected fatigue and whatever yuck is coming from adjusting to the aromatase inhibitor. Each day, when I settle into the headrest of the treatment table, it feels as though I'm pressing on a healing bruise - not undoing the healing progress which happened overnight, but definitely setting it back a step or two. Each day, after treatment finishes, I stop in the handy chair in the hallway outside the nurses station and breathe and massage my scalp and neck until the horizon stabilizes and I can safely drive home.

Fortunately, the world stabilizes sooner each day. I am on the mend.

Having the weekend off helped immensely. I was fortunate to be able to get away and spend it at the Stockton lake cabin of some friends. My energy was limited, and I was sad to spend a good part of Saturday resting at the house instead of trolling about the lake with the rest of the crew, but there are worse consolation prizes.

While they were out, Sylvester and I sat on the porch. I read a book, Sylvester kept a watchful eye on the surrounding area. We both enjoyed the moment of peace. 

And, resting for the afternoon recharged my batteries. I had plenty of oomph available to fully join in the laughter and fellowship at the dinner table, which was a balm for my soul. I am so grateful for the support of my friends.

Four down, sixteen to go. One step at a time.

Why Bother?

"Why bother?" I asked myself.

Why bother to spend time learning Spanish or rebuilding my piano skills? Why bother to work on the various tasks on my to-do list? Why bother to clean, to repair, to sew, to read a book?

It was easier, last week, to spend my afternoons caught in a mindless and seemingly endless doom scroll on my iPad than it was to engage my brain. I actually found myself reading the political news at one point - and you know I've avoided that part of the paper since November 8th!

When I took a step back, it didn't take me long to uncover what was behind the spiral; there's a part of me that REALLY doesn't want to do radiation and hormone therapy. These things are scary! Chances are excellent my cancer will return one day anyway - why not let it just come back now? Why even try?

Um. Hold on a minute, girl. 

Why create, in a world that's going to hell in a handbasket?

Because I want to be on the side of the Universe that creates senseless Beauty. The peonies in my backyard lasted less than a week - was their beauty diminished because it was short-lived? A sunset lasts less than an hour - are the colors less vivid because they quickly fade to night? Music fades from the world just moments after the notes are heard - is that a reason to never be part of creating the sound, to never attend a concert?

Are my hours of practice wasted because I will never be a concert pianist?

Yeah, everything I create will fall apart, and sooner rather than later. So what?

I don't know where Beauty goes after its time. But if I compare an afternoon spent doomscrolling against one creating and learning, I do know which will leave me in a better mental space at the end of the day, which will lead to a more restful night's sleep.

I know I will fall into the doom scroll trap again. But next time, I'll try to remember, sooner, that I can choose better ways to spend my precious days.

One step at a time.

Taking a Break

I showed up. I went to my appointments last Wednesday. 

The oncologist and I spent about a half hour first thing in the morning, talking over pros and cons of the various treatment options. Based on our consensus, I started taking exemestane, an aromatase inhibitor, that night. (If my body tolerates the drug, and I hope it will, I will be on it for quite some time.) 

I went home and grabbed lunch, then headed back out to spend almost two hours in the radiology department. I am now properly marked and measured and scanned; I will start my sixteen sessions of radiation on 6/25.

Then, I took a break from cancer for the rest of the week. I dropped all those questions and concerns, obsessions and control issues, into a handy basket, firmly closed the lid, then tucked the whole package away for a few days.

My red-headed stepchild had come into town for the weekend.

Since she's somehow turned into a responsible and productive adult, chances to spend one-on-one time with her have become few and far between, and it was easy to set everything aside to focus on renewing our relationship.

We spent hours on my back porch, sipping coffee and just talking. We have both been dealing with world-rocking challenges these past couple of years, and it was wonderful to spend time leisurely reviewing our learnings and remaining conundrums. We provide good perspective for one another. 

I was sad to watch her drive off yesterday morning.

Once she left, I sat down with my calendar to get an idea of the shape of my days this coming week.

I had to laugh. Clearly the Universe doesn't want me to sit around moping as I wait to start treatment next week, because my friends have reached out from several directions to pull me off my couch and out from under my fuzzy blanket. (Probably a good thing - it'll be a bit warm this week for blankets.) I have coffee, lunch, dinner, Shakespeare in the Park - a something going on almost every day of this week. I'm sure I'll still manage to find time to obsess about cancer and its effects on my life now and again, but I won't have enough down time for it to take over my days.

I'm calling this a good thing.

Waiting Again

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

In contrast to my surgery date, which I was eagerly anticipating by the time it arrived (EEWWW! Get it oouuutttt!), I have found myself looking at the calendar this week with a fair amount of dread.

On Wednesday, I will see both the oncologist, where I anticipate 'we' will finalize the endocrine treatment regimen I will be taking, and the radiation oncologist, where I will get measured and scanned and given some tiny dot tattoos in preparation for my treatment sessions which will start in two weeks or so.

This past week, for the first time in ages, I've found myself, time and again, diving down internet rabbit holes. I've spent hours each day doing ALL the NYT puzzles, then reading all the parts of the paper. A couple of times, I even found myself actually reading the political news of the day (which I haven't done since November 8). *sigh*

I stop. I ask myself, "is this really how you wanted to spend your time?" 

And then I mindlessly keep scrolling. 

Avoidance much?

I'm working to crawl back out of my hole; I am tired of all that nothingness. It makes the backs of my eyes hurt. 

It helps that Kate is recovering well from her marathon surgery; things are healing up and she likes what she sees in the mirror. She is also tolerating the endocrine treatments well - they're not knocking her flat and her brain is still functional. This past weekend, when I talked to her, she sounded like herself for the first time since she found her lump last July. She is living proof that this, too, shall pass.

I tell myself I don't have to be strong. I don't have to stay positive. I can mope in the corner all I want as long as, when the time comes, I show up at those appointments.  

One step. I just have to take one step.

This, I will do.

Quilting

A few years back, Kate found a quilt top at an estate sale. She kept it for a bit, then decided a quilting project was not going to be completed in her near future, and passed it on to me. I took the piece and put it in the back of my closet, targeting its completion as a good task for winter's evenings.

There it sat for quite some time. I did take it out long enough to head down to a local fabric shop, where I picked up the batting and backing I needed to finish the piece. Back into the closet it went.

As I was busy nesting before my cancer surgery this spring, the quilt was one of the projects I decided NEEDED to be completed as I started this round of treatment. (Sometimes, it's just not worth the energy it takes to argue with me.)

So, I pulled it out, fully intending to use yarn in the center of each hexagon flower to hold the piece together; a quick way to finish the blanket. Then I took a closer look at it, and realized someone had hand-stitched the thousands of tiny hexagons together. 

I stopped.

I began to form a mental picture of a woman, seated in a comfy chair, next to a fireplace. She is tired, but wants to create beauty at the end of her day, which was filled with less creative tasks. She quietly wields the needle and thread, using the repetitive motion to soothe her mind and quiet herself for sleep.

I pictured her tying off the last knot, then spreading the completed quilt top over her nearby sofa to admire her handiwork. I can feel her pride in accomplishment. She folded it up, planning to complete the quilting soon, then. then. 

I don't know what happened then, but given that she never finished the piece...

I re-formed my plan for finishing her piece. I wanted to honor her handiwork, and so decided, instead of using yarn to quilt, I would dust off my embroidery skills and make sunny yellow daisies to hold the pieces together. (This is one of those times where I'm just fine living alone, because there was no one to grumble when the project took over my dining room table for the last two months.)

In that last hour before bed, I've been putting on some quiet music and sitting down to sew some flowers. The meditative motion has given my hands something to do and freed my mind to attempt to sort through all the feelings which have been churning since I first found out the lump was my cancer, returned.

I finished the last daisy last night; will begin putting the binding on the edge this week. To work on completing this unknown person's labor of love, a deliberate act of creation in the midst of the rubble of my delusions of control, feels good. 

Beauty Is.