Rest Week

It's a roller coaster ride.  One of the old wooden ones that makes that distinctive clackity clack sound that's scary and sort of satisfying at the same time.  I'm strapped in, but don't feel completely secure, like if the coaster moved the right way I could just fly right out of my seat.  And I'm definitely not in control of my destiny for the near future.  I'm along for the ride, and I'm pretty sure I didn't want to get on this one in the first place.  Too bad I can't blame it on peer pressure or machismo.  And oh man, I'm already queasy and the ride is just getting started!

There are moments when this ride is thrilling.  It's a constant process of discovery, of rebirth and redefining.  There are moments that are flat out terrifying.  I don't need to go too deeply into the details of that.  But let's just say that in theory I'm not afraid of death.  Once you die, well you don't have much to worry about.  But I sure am afraid of the consequences for the people I love.  I'm afraid of missing out.  I am missing out, actually.  But I'm really just afraid that I won't get back to where I can be a normal functioning person again.

Those fears are real.  And I think it's important for me to acknowledge them.  Not to try to hide from them.  Part of dealing with this reality I'm living in is being realistic about it.  The seriousness of what I have.  The ways in which it's affecting my life now, and in the future.  It's important to bring those things out and to look at them.  From there I can confront and feel and process and move through them.  I can go through the experience of being afraid, and I can find out that it's just a feeling.  When I open my eyes I'm sitting right here.  I'm a living breathing person and my life continues on just like yesterday, just like six months ago.

Right now I feel like I'm in a holding pattern.  I'm waiting this thing out.  I have a course of treatments that I need to complete, and while I'm in it I can't really escape back out of it.  But at the same time it's moving forward quickly.  I'm a quarter of the way through the six months of heavy chemotherapy.  What I'm dying to know is how it will be after that.  Will I regain full functionality?  Will I be able to go back to work?  I desperately want to be able to do that.  To return to my life.

And the reason I'm so excited to get there is that I feel this huge potential.  The change in perspective I've had feels inspiring to me.  Like I just bought a new toy and I can't wait to try it out.  In some cases that is literally true.  I bought a new climbing rope this spring and I haven't used it yet, not even once.  So, there's this anticipation, this building momentum that I'm feeling.  And I think it's a good thing.  It is helping to fuel my desire to be healthy again.

Monday I head back to St. Anthony's in Lakewood to start my third round of chemotherapy treatments.  This will be yet another new experience.  This third round is the same set of drugs as the first round, but the first round was complicated by the surgery I had to biopsy the cancer and the fact that I was still intubated when they started treatment.  So I was recovering from surgery and had tubes in my chest and various other things.  This will be the first 'normal' round with this regimen.  Adventure on.

It's been a productive rest week.  I've learned a lot about what works and what doesn't.  What I need and what I don't.  I'm starting to settle into the routine of chemotherapy.  Don't worry though, I don't think it's possible to get too comfortable with this routine.