knee high by the 4th of july

tracking progress can be an eye-opening undertaking. each march or april, we get to our wits' end with winter weather, mother nature's indecisiveness, and plea for the flip-flopping to draw to a close. give us consistently warm days, we ask. give us sun to go along with our lengthened days. throw in a few rainy ones so everything will begin anew, bursting forth with green growth. sooner or later our wishes are answered, and spring stabilizes. and the next thing we know, summer is here with hot days, impossibly long hours, and rampant greenness. the transformation is never ending. one day leads into a week, into months, and we keep rolling right along with it. the process is undeniable and incredible. the tiny seeds that the farmer planted way back when we were still wishing for seasonal stability have sprouted, emerged carefully through the topsoil, and suddenly the corn is up to our eyes and we're wondering where the time is going.

this spring and early summer have given me the chance to see progress on a much more personal level. with the help of my eager doctors, i reduced myself down to nearly nothing. i was a shadow of my former self, skinny rather than thin, pale rather than fair-skinned, weaker than i have ever known. even when i was a premie in the incubator at the nicu i could muster more strength. just when i thought i wouldn't be able to take any more, beginning to sense that it was time to plea for a change in atmosphere, it abated. i was told to go home and work on being strong. the first week in may i couldn't walk up a flight of stairs without then lying down for a couple of minutes to catch my breath. the act of brushing my teeth had me huffing and puffing. who was this person i had come home with? and how do i get rid of her? starting slowly i made my daily walks to the end of the road. every once in a while in those first couple of weeks i would have a good day, completing my walk and still having the energy to sit up and talk for a while before napping or going to bed. soon i thought it was a good time to try a run. i made it 100 yards at a snail's pace before i had to stop and walk. i carried on like that, run 100 yards, walk 200, for two miles. within a week i completed my 5k, back of the pack, a lesson in acceptance and joy and not ever giving up. i've run a bit more since then, i've snuck in a few bike rides, and, model student that i am, i've attended every yoga class so far.

slowly but surely i've been making progress. today i ran two miles without stopping. the first 3/4 of a mile were tough, but it was that way before my lung was looted of two lobes, before i knew i had cancer cells squatting in my chest. the beginning is always the toughest part. but i got up to speed and for about 3/4 of a mile on the way home, the last 3/4 of a mile, i was up to normal speed, feeling good, feeling like i could keep going. i haven't had that feeling in months. maybe since skiing in utah. but more likely, not since a year or more ago when i was running. when i finally stopped today, caught my breath, drank some water, stretched, and got into the shower, i reflected on that feeling, this run, and i felt that knot of emotion in my throat. it is an gift, looking back on the progress i've made, to know i am healing and strengthening from day to day. i've worked so hard to get here, and i won't ever take it for granted again.

no matter how small or insignificant the baby steps might seem while we're making them, they do eventually add up. i don't want to be startled by cancer ever again, but odds are on the side of something creeping in some day. it is always in the back of my head, somedays buried deeper than others. but when i have moments that make the progress clear as day i never doubt my strength and the strength of the people around me. the corn will grow, the weather will stabilize, and the days will go on. and i'm so glad for the lessons i've learned about progress. they fill me with hope. i am encouraged. i can make it.