Moon through trees & a humid sky
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It has been just over a year since I had surgery to remove the tumors in my colon and on/in one of my ovaries. My recovery took time -- a visiting nurse came to change the bandages and packing on my slowly healing wound for weeks -- but rest, and reiki, and mushroom tonic and protein drinks and a whole food diet and, eventually, yoga all combined to help my recovery. Everything had come out 'cleanly' and I was relieved to be cancer-free below the belly button (now somewhat askew with the new post-surgery belly topography) ...
By spring, I was enjoying a new sense of energy and well-being.
The summer found me with enough energy to garden ... I'd spend a couple hours on my "good" days tidying up the herb garden at my Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm ... digging, planting, wielding my hoe down the beds, regaining my fluency with the plants ... some days it was as much as I could do to pull some weeds, and then rest, stretched out on my chaise lounge in the shade. Slowly, I could do more (there was always so much more to do!) and eventually I could put in a half day ... or more. I had a project, and a renewed sense of purpose.
I still had liver pain -- pain when eating, pain when evacuating, pain from bumps in the road, tenderness for no particular reason, sometimes; but it seemed to be lessening: from every day to five days a week, to three days, then parts of days. The balances tipped: now there were four good days and three "bad" -- but it was manageable, and seemed so much better than before. I was tired, but not AS tired. I was nauseous, but not AS nauseous. I still had neuropathy, but I wasn't as cold-sensitive. My handwriting had deteriorated but with intense concentration I could draw some, and do calligraphy. Who needs good handwriting, anyway?
I looked good. I felt pretty good.
And then my tumors started to progress again. 6.2 cm to 8 cm for the big one, and the little ones were growing, too. I entered round two of the chemo wars. I was offered a new protocol with new chemo agents -- a new set of side-effects -- and felt like shit. Swinging between diarrhea and constipation, burning pain, a new rhythm to my two-week chemo cycle, more "bad" days, lots of napping, days where a load of laundry was the sum total of my productive output. I hated my treatment.
The garden, now in full swing, made demands on my time and energy. Even on the bad days, I'd drive up there and do a couple things -- and however reluctant I might have been when setting out, once I got there, I found moments of bliss, harmony, pain-free. The plants grew. The garden took shape: long straight rows of sage and chives and lemon balm, st john's wort and hyssop. Sacred basil (tulsi) sprouted between the rows as volunteers, ruining the symmetry, but welcome none-the-less.
After four sessions (two months) I was able to get a CT scan. The side effects were awful.
But the scans were good. Great, even. 30% shrinkage of my 'big' tumor! My PA said that this report should go up on the refrigerator -- this being high praise from her -- and even my main Dr was dancing in the corridor. He didn't need to see me, even, as he had "sick" people to tend to. I was responding to the treatment. I could continue the chemo protocol (until the side effects drove me crazy, anyway.)
So, it seems I've been granted another respite, albeit a difficult and painful one. How many weeks of mostly bad days -- how many more weeks, does this pain package buy me? How can I judge if it is worth it? It is more than a little disconcerting to realize that if I drop dead tomorrow I'll still be considered a triumph of modern medicine. (Remember that my median time of survival was projected to be two years when I was first diagnosed in August of 2010)
I've had time for one more garden. One more harvest season. One more balmy night with the moon arching through the sky, tracing its eternal path, wakened by the pain, and noticing how beautiful it is.
How very beautiful.
