February 25, 2006
This morning, after driving in to the hospital for the second of ten injections of Neupogen, I decided to stop by and fill the tank of the car at the local station. The attendant and I know each other well from many such meetings, and when he said, as usual, “How’re ya doin?” I had the absurd urge to say, “Not very well, actually. . . I have cancer now.” But I didn’t. “Fine, and you?” the well worn response. We had the usual exchange about the weather and its possibilities and the cheerful, “Take care, now” to conclude the conversation. I thought about that all the way back to Sanctuary – how we sometimes keep up the facade because we don’t have the energy to put it down.
After I arrived home, it took great energy to get the car door open, and there was a sudden burst of resentment toward a body so dreary and depleted feeling. I determined to walk up the stairs like I used to. I took a deep breath and went up fourteen steps just like that. . . when I arrived at the top, the backs of my legs felt as though they were considering giving way, and my heart commenced to pound enormously. I promptly laid down on the floor and breathed air in with great gasps and waited until the heart calmed. When I got up, it was to walk on very slowly to a chair where I could sit and contemplate how some of life’s lessons need to be relearned upon occasion, even if they are obvious. “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: . . . a time to break down, and a time to build up” Ecc. 3:3b. It doesn’t exactly say “a time to schlepp”, but I think you could fit it in.