His colleague - not stylish at all I might add ;-) - was seeing both Dr. F's patients as well as his own, so to say it was beyond chaotic is putting it mildly. After an hour of waiting to see the other doc while relaxing (NOT!) in a semi-claustrophobic, bland space, we decided to forfeit and reschedule for three reasons. One, it was lunch time and it was important that both Drew and I ate for health reasons. Two, I didn't have the energy to go through the motions with a doctor I didn't know and didn't care to know, frankly. Three and more importantly, as I looked around the waiting room, I have to confess that it was beyond depressing. Remember, dear family and friends, these docs are oncologists so the folks they are treating all have cancer and are taking chemo, many of them larger doses than Yours Truly. One middle-aged gentleman was in a wheelchair and his wife who was clearly his caretaker looked weary, shoulders slumped, furrowed brows and just an air of zappy negative-energy frustration about her. She looked mildly pissed off (lots of heavy sighs) - not at him I'd venture to say, but just at the situation in general; the whole "F**K cancer" scenario. (I so hope that doesn't ever happen to Drew; that he becomes tired and frustrated in that manner. I so feel for the caretakers and the partners, as this journey is just as stressful and painful for them emotionally as it is for us dealing with The Big C physically, psychologically, emotionally). The other patients waiting in that non-inspiring, beige, tight space looked wan, weak and simply dejected, and there was a woman with a heart-breaking look of despair in her eyes. It just churned up so many different emotions that my instinct was to get out of there as quickly as I could, as it was starting to become oppressive. I just couldn't imagine ever looking like that - hopeless. It was so sad.
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Been giving a little more thought to dealing with this second round of cancer and the concept of "making friends" with it. I did a Google search of "making friends with cancer" and came across a book, written by a cancer survivor - Dawn Nelson - and her view on making friends with The Nefarious Beast. I was so encouraged to read that many of the things Dawn suggested, I have already acknowledged and strive to focus on, each and every day. Now, having said that, I do allow myself days when I feel a little sad and that's OK. I came across a fascinating article on the American Cancer Society's website, and the effort needed to constantly be "UP! Woo Hoo!! Positive!!" and put on a happy face is actually quite exhausting. And I must admit, that's true. I'm so glad for the time to be at home so that I can reflect, rest, enjoy the love and support of all of you dear fine folks and just be able to stare at my semi-bald head. :-) All kidding aside, I just could not imagine having to expend energy to put on that happy face at work at this moment, as that would be too Herculean an effort and thus, I'm so so grateful for the opportunity to rest quietly at home. Another blessing. Here is a link to the highlights of Ms. Nelson's book. Just a few bullet points if you are interested in reading it ... http://www.softeeusa.com/friends_cancer_main.html
At the end of the day, it all comes back to perspective. I remember an extraordinary high school English teacher who had a profound influence on the way I think and write. To this day, I quote her and am grateful to her for her ahead-of-their-time methods, choice of books and continual intellectual discussions - remarkable for high school. In fact, while the class was touted as "English", it was actually more "Philosophy" and she was instrumental in instilling in me the notion of questioning things. Of reading someone's work and trying to get into their minds - what were they thinking when they wrote this? What did they mean by this? And of not focusing on one piece of data as the truth as that in itself is irrelevant except where it fits into the larger context, the grand scheme of things. She had a favorite quote and forgive me while I paraphrase, but it went something like this: "Without suffering, how can one know joy?" Again, it's all about perspective. For me, they are at opposite ends of the same spectrum, with apathy at the center and varying degrees of suffering and joy extending outwards to their opposite extremes. And think about it. How can one truly define joy if one has not experienced pain? It's all relative. I read another fascinating quote that states that "Suffering teaches joy" and my point to all of this is that I think I have reached the stage where I feel a renewed sense of peace and joy. When I finally confronted my pain, I realized the extent of my joy. I still need to work on dealing with the fact that This Tumor will still be with me but I will find a way to deal with that in the days and weeks to come.
The finale of the true confessions. Thank you so much for reading, for listening - as always. Love you all and thank you again for your love and support and for taking the journey with us. Means the world to us ....and thanks to LAP for the apropos sign off.
Viaggio con me (con noi),
Cancerella, Buderello e i due Gatti
xoxoxo
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