The conversation was unnecessary. I read. I know. There were whispers - one adamant
telling me again that I will be nearly an invalid during chemo and
radiation and the herceptin. That my bones could break, I'll get
infections, my marrow will be weakened so I probably won't be able to stand, I will be anemic, that I will have
severe bone pain and on and on and that my heart will fail or be so terribly compromised and damaged I die soon. (But so can Neulasta blow up your spleen.) Tell me something I haven't seen before! Another whisper from an acquaintance who couldn't understand how I am standing up
and functioning and in a positive and cheerful mood because as he described it,
"chemo ain't pretty" and that maybe it had already gone to my brain because of the delay in chemo treatment and that's why I'm cheerful. I've heard that before, too. I choose to ignore it.
Hey - I'm not dead yet, people! That makes me happy.
The problem is still - how can I feel so great and be so sick?
It's difficult to comprehend.
My priorities right now are not to listen to this shit. I have a
job to do worse than I've ever had. I simply have to get through
it with humor, brute determination, resolve, all my inner reserves
of strength, every stubborn ounce of stubborn I have and not let
the pain and misery half kill me. I have to be a bulldozer and
just get the job done. I must remain focused. But I freely admit, the drugs I will be taking frighten me
terribly, and I wish I had had the choice of alternate medicine,
though I have the HER2 and it's 3+, the highest classification of
it and the big game changer. The Adriamycin, as you might know, causes severe heart problems and so does the Herceptin but not in everyone. Treatment can be stopped until the heart recovers. So I'm calling a cardiologist for a
baseline echocardiogram this morning and hopefully I can get it
before chemo because the oncologist tests only every three months and that's
not enough for my "healthy" old heart which has never missed a beat in 70 years. I want to come out of this
as unscathed from the side effects as I can. So I will eat well
for a chemo patient, drink more water than I ever had to flush my system from the toxins as I should, take supplements that I'm allowed, exercise
by walking just a half hour a day moderately, because I've read
many times that walking helps alleviate chemo problems.
And I refuse to forget how to find beauty and joy every day. I
saw a zebra longwing the other day; a very rare visitor among
the morning glories. But seeing nature's glory is an every day thing for me. I walk in beauty and remarkability - that's how I go through the days of my life. I've always done that, taking NOTHING for granted.
If my life must be shortened, I want to be remembered that I didn't
bring people down; that I used humor, courage, dignity and grace
and told the people I love so much just how much I loved them. I
don't want to burden anyone by constant complaining so I would rather laugh and smile and if the days are long and painful, cuddle with my dogs and sleep. Why not? I would like
to finish up some writing, and get it published if I can, and I
will keep a diary and if I begin to succumb there will be a record. I'd like to sort my
things out so that I can rest with the knowledge that everyone got
what I wanted them to get to remember me - precious items with fond memories attached should go to the people you love.
I don't think it's in my brain for feeling like this. I
think...this is me and how I feel about the extraordinary life
I've led. Who lives with ravens? How many nobodies get books
published by a publisher, or gets work accepted from international
magazines or pictures of bugs and frogs used in field guides? How fortunate to see the grandeur of Big Sky or the jewel tones of damselflies caught on my camera perched on tall waterside grasses; to stand to my knees in a strip of Spanish Needles and photograph the incredible amount of living things this simple "weed", mowed to the ground repeatedly, supports.
When I get better - as soon as I can, I want to get a group together and meet at the livery and
paddle down Econfina Creek to 388, stopping for a picnic at Pitt
Spring. And if I die, maybe this will be my going away party as well.
Do not allow people to suck the joy out of joy and leave you hollow. This is your fight. It's mine, too.
Like a boxing match, you need your fans screaming their support on the sidelines. Don't allow anyone to knock you down. But if they do, get your ass up off the floor and finish the damn fight and don't even think of crying because it hurts. So fucking what!
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