Monday, April 2, 2018

Someone's winter, someone's new spring


I am reminded of the frailty of life again and again these days. This past week we lost a relative to the "silent killer" pancreatic cancer that had spread to lungs and liver. Five short weeks from diagnosis to hospice. Good Lord, have mercy, please let him rest in peace.
So I feel saddened by the loss and lucky at the same time. My bout with my silent killer continues and I feel immensely fortunate that chest congestion and a fever took me to that first doctor visit. No lumps, no signs, remember? Nothing there.
We now talk about my cancer more with ease, my husband and I. I was always fairly comfortable but he resisted for a bit. Now it's just part of our lives, which is in itself a little weird. So this last week we talked about how there is really no way to know if my poison pills are working, not really. Sure the "tumor markers" go down and as long as I am exhausted and anemic I figure my cancer is also exhausted and getting anemic. I can only hope. There is really no way to tell. I can't feel it crawling away, I can't see it recede, I don't know where it is, I can't feel it...


I know I feel better, I have more energy now. I feel like working on the house, I can breathe up at the cabin, the pain in my ribs almost gone...still a trace, but almost gone. Not splitting wood yet, but maybe soon--perhaps with a hydraulic splitter!

And it is spring, so patience is easy to visualize. I imagine all the trees and plants in our yard, in the desert and on the mountain, I imagine how patient they were all winter. Waiting for the warmth, waiting for the first signs of a sporadic rain shower, waiting for the breeze not to bite. I wait along for the next wave of energy, the return of my strength, perhaps by summer's end a PET scan will show the beast beaten out of my body. Perhaps.

Meantime, it is now easier to walk two miles plus and I have seen spring buds everywhere. They were very patient and somehow knew to wait quietly until they knew the sun would reward them. They are everywhere and remind me to wait and to enjoy the beauty of every day.

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