Friday, February 01, 2013
theme from Rocky: can you hear it?
I knew I would feel better today and I do. Regis and I are both very pragmatic when it comes to shit that comes down the pike. You either do it or you don't but you don't do it and complain about it for six months.
So, the weekly taxol and daily radiation just become my hobby for a while. I find things to enjoy about going there so I look forward to it, I get dressed up and put on make-up and a fancy hat...and I just do it. Once in a while I need a can of whoop ass, but not often.
I'm planning to have a beautiful garden this year. I should be able to start working in the dirt about the time the radiation starts so I'll go to radiation, then I'll work in the garden.
I'm anxious to start riding my bike again. I think I'll have Regis put the rack on the back of the car so I can explore some more distant bike paths. Exercise in the fresh air and sunshine is always better for my mental health.
My friends and family have been wonderful for sending emails and cards with good wishes, light, and love. Friends bring pots of soup and send flowers and books. They offer to drive me to appointments. They come for coffee on Saturday morning and we watch birds and eat cookies. I hear from people I'd lost contact with for a while. Sometimes we say I love you at the end of the conversation.
I've met so many new people who now feel like friends: Brianna who always bring our coffee at Guenther's, Kerry who takes care of me at the cancer center, Judy the research nurse who brings me knitting patterns, my oncologist who tells us stories of growing up on the Nebraska plains, Susan in exercise class who had cancer and is now exercising to ward off depression, Arlene who is 92 and learned how to drive a team of horses when she was young.
Many people say they are praying for me every day. That's a powerful thing, no matter what. Mom's church, Arlene's church, Mary, Susan, Joanne and Elizabeth's church.
Emily's mom made me an afghan. It's a giant, bed-sized afghan in many wild colors, like a warm rainbow.
Mom sends me little packages of candles, antiseptic hand wipes, angels, and kitchen towels.
Life is good.
Posted by Teresa Saum at 8:21:00 AM