June 2, 2007
June came too soon since the 12th round of Chemotherapy arrived at the same time. The hoped for return of the nerve endings in the tongue did not arrive, though I do have some tastes remaining, with an odd selection of what is discernable and what is not. For example, Mexican foods bring heat to the mouth, but no other taste, and some herbs register, while others do not. The treatment had to go on because blood levels were dropping and the plan is to be completed with sufficient time for recovery to send me off to New Zealand feeling as well as possible.
We spent last week at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, at the International Trumpet Guild’s gathering there as Charles was accompanying a pair of trumpeters in their presentation of new music. It was an honor to be playing since it was evident that this event brought forth incredibly accomplished trumpet players, and the music we heard was fantastic. The weather was perfect; there were hedges of rhododendrons everywhere, and we had a most enjoyable time – we experienced the unique pleasure of Midwesterners strolling around the New England towns and seeing buildings and streets that are so much older than our own. As we walked a narrow cobbled street, Charles commented that he could almost hear the horses and carriages coming at him out of the past.
Perhaps a sight and sound that I will remember most is that of a young man standing near the stark concrete wall of the new Campus Center playing his instrument into the deserted green. He was doing his finest runs and trills and such, but I don’t think anyone paid any attention to him. We saw him there each day as we walked from one venue to another; it seemed a peculiar place to practice and I wondered if he was secretly hoping that someone of importance or discernment would stop and say, “Who is making that heavenly sound? We must invite him to play!”
These are difficult days in the journey; there are so many unknowns and uncertainties and my body seems to be more frail even as the medications list grows longer. This requires many inner prayers built on familiar words memorized long ago – their well-worn cadences give me comfort and courage as life on earth still holds much appeal. When I sag, Charles gives me a hug and says, “But you’re here!” and who could deny the joy of that?