April 21, 2006
Cancer is a cruel disease. Yesterday when we went to the oncologist’s office for the second shot of Vidaza in this fourth round, we met for the second time a man with whom we had become acquainted through the choir at First-Plymouth. He and his wife were also planning on going to Russia with the tour this summer, and unexpectedly one day, there they were in the chemo room. He was just beginning chemotherapy for a newly discovered cancer; this time they were returning after his gall bladder had been removed. Now the cancer in his body is moving aggressively on, and he is facing new, experimental treatment. He is fiercely fighting this terrible interloper, and it is a monumental struggle indeed. Meanwhile, my cancer is slow and quiet, stealthily removing stem cells bit by bit and without pain.
Spring is at its zenith, with all growing things stepping out, pushing forth, and beginning anew. The greens are still vivid and vigorous, the plum blossoms hide the thorny tree stems, and the willow branches seem to enjoy moving about with every passing wind current. These days require celebration because they are so fleeting. We went to the favorite grocery store in Lincoln, and for the first time since Christmas, I was participating in an activity which had been routine and unconsidered in my past life. Charles was very patient as I piled all sorts of lovely viands into the basket, and the joy of viewing all the food choices was grand. My energy has not yet begun to diminish from the chemo, and the cooking and baking activities are calling out, loud and clear.
“Earth and all stars! Loud cheering people! Loud praying members! Sing to the Lord a new song! He has done marvelous things. I too will praise him with a new song!” These hymn phrases are moving through my mind, and your expressions of happiness at my news of improved health bring them forth in full organ and joyful congregational song. Thank you for making the sound grow and grow!