This photo was taken in August of 2007 during my last round of chemo. That was nearly two years ago and it's a cliche, but time flies. Since the day this photo was snapped, here's what's happened:
1. My cancer has gone into remission (and seems to be staying there)
2. Megan (my only child) married ... and bought her first home with her hubby and is now pregnant with their first child
3. The scrapbooking magazine I worked on then is no longer being published and I'm now working on Horticulture (with a dream team!)
4. My dear friend E got engaged and is getting married next month. I'm a bridesmaid (always a bridesmaid, never a ...)
5. I'm back to practicing yoga every day but not back to teaching yet
6. I had a serious relationship that was a bit of a whirlwind ... it seems to have ended before it really got to put down roots
There's so much more day-to-day goodness that's occurred but the point is that I'm finally positive—almost two years later—that THIS IS the new normal of my life. Cancer, and surviving it, are a big part of the equation that makes me 'me.' I like living each day as if it may be my last, because then I don't put off the important stuff.
Because I know that in the blink of an eye years will fly by, our babies will be grown up and gone, and if I don't make every effort every day to make my dreams come true then I'll only have myself to blame. Today I was back in the treatment suite receiving an amazing drug called Rituxin. It recognizes cancer cells at their earliest formation and smothers them. I'll have to get this infusion once a week for four weeks. Then I'll do the whole routine again in another six months.
Being in the treatment suite is an exercise in riding the waves of one's emotions. No matter how often I go, I'm always anxious before I arrive. Seeing all the nurses, whose names I've come to know and whose lives have been full of changes in the two years since I've known them, is reassuring. Watching a new patient crying because she's overwhelmed with just having had to shave her head and having to deal with the onslaught of the drugs that will make her ill but save her life is heartbreaking. Getting pumped full of chemicals that one must sign a release form stating that one understands the grave, possible side effects is more than this one even wants to think about (I sign because it's a risk I'm willing to take to keep my cancer in remission).
Suffice it to say it's good to be home. I'm blessed to receive the care I do. Blessed to have a sister who lives a mile away and who could take me to treatment, get me lunch, pick me up and run me to the grocery before I came home to crash. Blessed that so far I can afford the care (though I often pray to God that He'll set up a fundraiser to help me with the financial burden that weighs heavy on my mind). Blessed that I have the strongest prayer posse a woman could ask for. Blessed because I am loved.
peace on the path