September 6, 2006
Blue jays appear to awaken to the new days yelling and squawking; as I walk Sanctuary at sunrise, those are the largest bird sounds that I hear. There are also quiet chirpings in the plums as I pass by, as the more refined members of the community begin their day, but the jays are out there screaming for their breakfast or pointing out nighttime indiscretions – who knows? These days are perfect with good blue skies and lovely cloud patterns; the wild flowers are blooming in the pasture and there are spiders constructing perfect pizza-sized webs in the tall grasses. Yesterday the Monarch butterflies came to the forest on the hill, flittering around the pines in greater numbers than I have seen for a number of years. They are an inspiration – if these fragile types can make it to Mexico, I figure I can make it to next week.
The last round of Chemotherapy was perhaps the hardest I have gone through. I still have nausea and bruises from the shots, aching limbs and weariness. Hardest to deal with is that I felt good going in, with remission in place and good blood counts – now I must continue nine more days of the Neupogen shots to rebuild white blood cells that the chemotherapy did in. Since there is such an element of the unknown concerning the future, I wish for the absolute insight that will tell me how best to go forward. (In life, wouldn’t that be great – that vision in the night that tells all? All those years ago the psalmist said, “Show me your ways, Lord, and make them known to me!”) I do not have to do the Chemotherapy – ultimately it is my choice and many chose not to go on with it because it is so unpleasant. On the other hand, the good days of summer were great, and planning autumn activities with Charles is lovely – my present intent is to visit with the Oncologist and see if perhaps the next series of remedial chemo could be delayed until it is absolutely clear that it is the best and most reasonable choice to make. I too make the request, “Show me your ways, Lord” and though I have never had the vision in the night I trust that in good time, the correct path will become evident.
Just one more day of injections! I am always taken aback by how difficult the whole exercise becomes as each day advances. I started the week feeling reasonably well, and every morning I have felt worse due to the chemical wash directed toward the bone marrow. By yesterday evening I called daughter Heidi so I could whimper and whine. “Tell me why I am doing this since my blood counts were normal!” I said, and she kindly replied that I should remember that I am in control of the choice to go through the seven days or not, though her understanding was that without this treatment, the blood cells would be inclined to throw out the useless blasts once again, and therein lay the path to terminal illness. Of course she was right, and of course I knew it well, but it helped to hear her say it. Remission has meant feeling well and forgetting about the enemy within; this brings everything back again. It is as though I must pay a periodic toll to traverse the path into the future. The discipline required to do this means I must remember the lovely days of the recent summer past as well as how beautiful autumn can and will be if my body is once again “normal”. And yes, I am grateful to experience the wonder of remission and I am thankful that there is more to come.