January 23, 2008
“in the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone; snow had fallen, snow on snow. . . snow on snow.” So goes the Christina Rossetti text for a Christmas carol, and it accurately describes Sanctuary this January. We traverse the paths where the snow has packed down to make the walking easier. Not only Alphie and ourselves walk here, but deer, rabbits, raccoons, and other less obvious creatures use these same trails. With the morning temperatures hovering around zero, I bundle up in many layers while Alphie patiently waits for me. He goes from the warm house out into the elements clothed in only his coat; he runs about with the same delight as always, chasing rabbits from their hiding places under the cedars and pretending that he might catch a squirrel at some point. Though the winter weather is wearying, it does provide the setting for breathtaking sights – last night a full moon on new snow meant that as one walked across the landscape, it appeared that diamonds were flashing everywhere around, glittering and giving off little prisms of light in a manner I’d never seen before.
On January 20th, we remembered the second anniversary of the day of diagnosis of MDS and the beginning of Chemotherapy. At the time, we were hopeful that the Vidaza would extend life past the six months generally allotted for people having this disease. January 2006 was a difficult time, and the beginning of a new way of looking at life. Now, two years later, I am a different person, with an awareness of cancer and its fierce and dreadful ways that I had never considered before. There is an unimagined amount of courage walking about in the people one meets entering and leaving the oncologists offices and hospitals – most go on without comment and await with hope outcomes that may or may not be good. The ongoing blessing/curse of the treatment is the truckload of chemicals that are so fierce they must be administered with protective garments and gloves because they can eat through flesh if spilled – these are entered into the veins of the diseased and the struggle commences internally. At the beginning of things, one is innocent of knowing what all of this is like, then the reality of “side effects” and physically containing a field of battle becomes a new way of life. One dutifully checks off the list presented, “diarrhea, nausea, muscles aches, night sweats, constipation, bone pain, mouth sores, numbness of extremities, hair loss, etc., etc.,” and goes on.
I am still alive, feeling reasonably well, and so thankful for each morning I wish I could sing louder and express more largely my gratitude. The biweekly CBC’s indicate a slow downward movement of the blood counts, but to date, all is well. Today I will make some chicken soup and clean out a few more kitchen cabinet drawers. Charles has brought up purple, white and yellow orchids from the greenhouse, the fire is burning comfortably in the wood stove, and the frosty winds are kept at bay. Life is good.