A long while away from this space after a day last week that began easily enough in our kitchen with my daughter and transpired into another Dartmouth ER visit and a prolonged stay. Days and nights chopped into mosaic pieces. MDs and RNs, the revolving cast of the Dartmouth surgical team, my daughters, pain meds, ice chips, me sitting up and begging for a patch-up to get me to my next chemo appointment… Get me out of this chronic patient repeat.
Now, five of the six chemo treatments completed, I am in the final haul. While my in-box filled up (thank you for your patience), and I was moved from room to room by kind people, I kept thinking of this cancer in a narrative arc. I had hit the section of story where the impossible commences. Before, things looked grim. But now, as protagonist in my own story, the arc swerves sharply, the longed-for light-at-the-end of the tunnel snuffs out, the path is hidden.
I’m not a writer for naught, for make-believe or play. I’m a writer because I know our lives tread meaningful albeit sometimes horribly hard paths. Lean in, I counseled myself, my shoulders far skinnier now but just as fierce. Use math. Get to the fifth infusion. Get to the sixth. Count down the finite days to the end of this treatment, which is, thankfully, eradicating the cancer. In the mosaic: my two daughters, the plastic IV tubing, the doctors in their masks, the ER nurse who stayed long past his shift in the middle of the night, holding my hand and assuring me that, yes, indeed, I would endure.
This is my story, but also the human story, in all our infinite variations of human desire, choice, the immutability of fate.
Sunny morning in our kitchen, birdsong, the fierce thrust towards spring.
Stony Soil Vermont 
I think you have given words to the impossibly long pull of recovery.
Thank you.
we are all with you…
Again, thank you so much!
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Fierce! ❤
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You have so much strength, both from within and from all of us—your supporters. It reminds me of a line in Kipling’s poem The Law of the Wolf: “For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.” Keep moving forward, and think constantly of all of us rooting for you. You are such an incredible human! Thank you for continuing to allow us on your journey!
With much love, Kat 💗
Thank you for these words, Kat. Hope to swim with you this summer. 💕
YES! We will swim! I can’t wait! ☀️😃
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So powerful. Thank you. CarySent from my iPad
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Everyone has a different experience with chemotherapy as there are so many cancers and so many different drugs. The common element seems to be having six lots and fatigue and food tasting horrible! It’s not so much what the chemo does to you as the fact it is stopping your body doing all its natural repair work and maintenance – things we don’t appreciate till they stop functioning. I hope your recovery is quick after the final treatment.
I agree… so much I’ve learned during this journey. A year at least my oncologist advised is needed for recovery… but that’s such a good word.
Yes it’s good to spoil yourself a bit and accept the new you, our bodies may not be quite the same.
Indeed….. I remind myself, everything is always in flux.
Yes, this is the truth of it. Physicians will assure that there is always something they can do, but the body knows better. I’m a 19 year survivor of a treatable lymphoma. I survived because I had monoclonal antibody injections for 5 years afterward. My sister had the same cancer, but did not have the antibodies, and hers morphed into a less treatable lymphoma. It was heartbreaking to watch the decline of her body. Chemical treatment of cancer is antithetical to the rhythm of the body. I always knew that my body could not…would not rise to the occasion again. Everyone has their own story. Mine at 86 is gratitude for getting more years to leave a better footprint.
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II am sorry to hear this, but it is so familiar. The comment above, left by tidalscribe.com is about right. Some cancers are containable and some defy the process. Mine was containable and the monoclonal antibody injections during chemo treatment and for several years afterward is what allowed me this 19 year survival. What i have learned, watching members of my family and friends struggle with cancer is that the medical profession is sworn to life, no matter the cost and will say that there is always something they can do. But the doing can cross boundaries. It’s your body and your life. How you live it is still your decision (the current, draconian administration notwithstanding)
Naomi, thank you for writing in…. Again, kudos for your 19 years. 🩵
sending you lots of love ❤️
Thank you!! 💗
Wishing you many more mornings in your kitchen and a lot more birdsong to bring you cheer!
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Heart and good wishes, Brett.
Gwen.
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