While I am busily consuming Marie Callendar chicken pot pies and waiting for my immune system to come back on line, I’m a little housebound.
And I’m indulging myself.
In this last stretch of chemo before I head into six months of dedication to recovery, I’m living – perhaps for the first time in my life – with an attitude of “whatever it takes, no worries”. I’m not depressed, I’m relaxed.
During my treatments, I’ve had a whole slew of worries: Nausea, bone pain, nerve damage, my immune system, fatigue, chemo brain, how and when I can handle client work, is Dave doing OK, how are the girls handling all this, whether or not I can take the risk to be with people I love, whether I should commit to social occasions, can I make it around the block, where I can find a chair to sit and rest.
Now I can let go of all that. It’s not over, but it’s easing. New goals for my health are yet on the horizon, and I don’t have to set them now. My only assignments for the coming two weeks are to finish writing one report, to learn lessons about love and to turn my blood counts around so I have renewed energy to vision, design and claim my road to recovery.
I always remember I’m one of the lucky ones. My cancer is – with a high degree of probability – vanquished. Around me people I love and people I pass on the street face disease far worse than mine, addictions and desperation, dementia and depression, poverty and despair.
My solo challenge is to get my bone marrow working again so I can start the uphill climb back to health.
For now, like I said, no worries. Just a little self-indulgence and a prayer that, sometime soon, I can experience the past five months as a “job well done”.