This Year Will Be Different
IIt’s a new year for me and a great opportunity to change things up a bit. And if you know me, “sticking” to goals has never been my forte. So this isn’t going to be easy but it shouldn’t be hard, either.
This year I am going to make a conscious effort to love myself a bit more. Every day I need to do a little something for me that makes me feel good — something that celebrates who I am, what I am and where I am in this funky, spining world. It doesn’t have to be big and glorious. In fact, I prefer if it was just a little something I do for myself that promotes good body, mind and spirit. And, if theories are what they are, this should spill over into a lot of places.
So today, instead of sleeping in, I got up at 5:00. I stretched and I went walking at 5:30. Not sure what got into me but a few steps in I started to run — not fast (can’t really do that, yet) but it was running. The first three minutes were rough. I was going to fall back into walking but I decided to at least go one more block. That push felt good and then it got easier. Before I knew it, I logged 2.58 miles and only .3 of that was a slight walk break in the middle to adjust my music and figure out where I was going to go next.
What are you going to do to love yourself a bit more today?
Time to Float
Sometimes you need to check out for a bit in order to check back in.
Have you ever looked outside a window or run an errand at mid-day and seen people sitting on a bench? Have you ever wondered why they were there and more importantly, why they weren’t someplace else? Like say, their job?
Yesterday, Dave and I were those people… sitting on a bench by the river… in the middle of the day. By 1:00 each of us had texted the other saying similar: we couldn’t focus on any work in front of us. The minutes leading to the oncology consult were long. Scary long. Our minds were each going into dangerous places. So we made a call. We met in a parking lot and went someplace we’d never been together before down by the river. We sat and watched the barges. We wasted some precious paid time off but that was okay. It is what we both needed to do. When we did speak, it was in terms of odds and probability. We both knew that, statistically speaking, this is the time when the majority of people with Dave’s form of cancer (the classification he was given) have a relapse. Getting through this gate was important. Our senses were heightened because of Dave’s continual level of pain in the area where the tumor had originally been. The pain was the trigger that got him to the doctor almost two years ago.
Finally, it was time to go.
Walking into the oncologists office six months after the last visit was not as unnerving as some may suspect. It was good to see the staff — they greeted us with big smiles and sweet chit-chat. We took that as a good sign. It softened the edge.
Of course, our doc is the master of the poker face. Any time he walks into the exam room it is with the same level of measured calm. We get it. But still when he quietly says, “So, how are you?” and is holding an envelope, Dave can’t reply any other way than, “Well, perhaps you can tell me how I am?”
In doc’s words, the scans looked good. The cancer remains in control and there are no new instances of anything sinister showing up on the radar. The scar tissue seems to have shrunk even more within the past six months. He’s feeling good regarding how things are progressing. Remission status stays intact. And as with every discussion, more assurances come the closer Dave gets to late September 2013, the year three mark.
Of course, the puzzling thing is still the pain. Our oncologist said that generally at this point and with this type of cancer, the pain caused by the tumor’s residence is gone. So, more discussion about new ways to deal with it. The big assurance for Dave was that the pain didn’t mean it was back. The body is just taking it’s time to heal.
So what was learned and gained through all of this? Definitely some new perspective and hope that as the every six month scans and consults continue, the anxiety lessens. I don’t want to lose precious minutes, hours and days worrying about the what ifs. It is time to walk away from that and time to float. To enjoy. To not live life (or be afraid to live life) because of a date on the calendar that “could change things.”
Beating the odds at this level is a wonderful boost. Dave felt great with the news (as anyone in his shoes would) but even better about his overall prognosis. While we agreed that as silly as it was, sitting on a bench by the river was a good thing to do yesterday, but we will not repeat that sort of behavior come December. We’re going to work to release the monsters of our imaginations and take life as it is. Besides, it would be too cold. ~ Jacqui
The Weight of Waiting
Dave just left for his 18 month scans. We won’t know what they reveal until late Thursday.
His cancer, while in remission, is in a precarious period. I don’t say that to get attention or put a negative spin on things. It is a simple fact. You have to have a good, long string of clean scans in order to get the “free” sticker. So far he has two.
Ask any cancer fighter and he or she will tell you that scan day is not a fun day. Try as one might, it’s hard to get a good mental angle. We live in an instant society. Waiting for “the read” seems archaic and cruel. But that is the way it is.
There’s a jag in our rhythm right now. Is the unknown phantom still that — a wisp of nothing? Or, has it started to organize itself into a shape — something with dimension and heft? It makes me wonder when … if … this part of things will ever feel commonplace. I know there is nothing I can do right now to change things so it is best to just get on with the day.
We won’t know until Thursday.
Nashville or Bust 