changing of the seasons

Once again I find myself looking out my living room window at our beautiful maple tree.  The red leaves are slowly returning despite the wind's efforts to blow them away.  At times it seems as confused about this weird weather we are having as I am; but the squirrels are back and the birds are back and my dog is enthralled with watching every move they make.  


When I bought this house the maple was one of the selling points even though, from the street side, it had the definite appearance of an apple with one bite taken out.  Big, beautiful, red and round... except the spot where no leaves would grow and the branches had died.  But from the inside of the house, the view of our tree was beautiful and perfect.  I once had a professional look at the tree and they informed me that the tree had been hit by lightning quite some time ago, leaving this permanent scar.  Each year takes a larger bite out of our maple and now a fourth of the tree is missing leaves.  Funny thing is, the view from my window has improved, the tree is older and more colorful than ever.  The "bite" is only obvious on the outside.  


And that's how I feel today.  From the outside I am scarred - no breasts, no hair, no eye lashes, spotty eye brows, and finger tips and nails that are decaying.  It's as if a lightening bolt hit me last fall and over the last 7 months I have continued to lose my "leaves".  But when I take a different perspective, I can see that I am much the same as I ever was and maybe even a little bit better - from the inside, the view is improving.  


When I first was diagnosed, I remember joking with friends about having to wear pink and participate in walks now.  Then a few weeks ago, while talking with a friend, she mentioned how it seems that there is a lot of pressure on cancer patients to take something away from their illness,  "cancer has changed me" is commonly said by those who have gone through it, and shouldn't it be enough that we fight and survive?  It was a great observation.


But here's the thing -  sometimes you do change, because sometimes you want to.

Like everything else on this journey, this too is a personal decision.  I can understand those who need to focus every ounce of mental and physical strength just to get through each day, each moment.  And I can understand those who want everything to remain the same and just put cancer behind them and pretend it never happened.

But for me, I can't imagine going through all of this and not finding someway to learn from it...to change for the better.  At the end of the day, I want more from this journey than to survive - I want to thrive.  And I don't want this to just be about the cancer, because if it's just about cancer, then I've turned over 7 months, 10 months, a year to cancer and I refuse to give cancer that much power.  In many ways, I need this to be about something more than cancer.  


So don't be surprised if in the future I wear pink and walk walks. If, like my maple, I am older and more colorful than I was before. But don't say that cancer has changed me - because the truth is, if anything changes it will be because I choose to change.  


And I choose to change.

We

Another chemo down, 3 to go. The road is shorter, but steeper... but with so many holding me up, cheering me on, even pushing me on when I need it... well that makes all the difference in the world.


I posted that on my facebook wall tonight, and in response a friend of mine posted the following: "I think I can, I know you can.  I think I can. I know you can.  I think I can. I know you can.  I think I can. I know you can.  I think I can. I know you can."


We.


I find myself often writing in pronoun "plural" - like today's CaringBridge update: "I can't believe we are 13 chemo treatments in, with only 3 to go."   I wrote that, and posted it before I realized I had written in the plural again... and so I found the inspiration for today's blog:  We.


We are going through chemo. 


We: I, and my daughter - most definitely, my daughter
We: I, my dad and my extended family
We: I, and my amazing, wonderful guardian angels
We: I, and my friends
We: I, and my God - most definitely, God.


We are going through this cancer journey together.


No one takes a journey on their own, there are always those that are there, side by side, step by step; and those there in spirit, if not in body.


For many weeks there was someone with me for almost every day, all day; especially those after chemo.  Seeing that I took my meds, drank enough water, got sleep, taking me to the clinic for appointments and the hospital when things went bad.  And being there to support my daughter. 


Now, when I sit in my chemo chair, there is always someone with me, keeping me company, hanging out while I fall asleep from the drugs, seeing me home safe.  And the room is full, physically and spiritually.  There are nurses, volunteers, physicians assistants and doctors all whom I am getting to know more as the weeks go by.  There are the messages I get from people checking in and sending wishes for a good outcome; and the comfort I get knowing so many are there in thought and prayer. 


We are in chemo together.  I providing the body, you contributing to the spirit. 


The journey is long, but I am daily amazed at how tirelessly you stay with me: holding me up, cheering me on, pushing me when I need it... it makes all the difference in the world.


Thanks for being with me on this journey.