perspective

a year ago today, right about this time of the afternoon, i was coming out of surgery in an anesthesia-induced stupor. drifting in and out of sleep and conciousness, i knew the most frightening part was behind me. i had little fact to base this assumption upon; i knew i had been cut open, my ribs had been spread, a surgeon had reached in, sliced and diced around my lung and associated tubing, stuff had been removed, stuff i had fought to have in the first place thanks to my two-month-plus premature birth, and i'd been sewn up, un-intubated (which i still remember, contrary to what they told me), and delivered to the care of the recovery nurses. if this sounds like it *might not* be the hard part, let me know. even typing it, reading it now, still makes it sound pretty damn difficult. and so. 365 days ago to the minute i grinned to myself and figured i'd faced the worst of it. or maybe that's the drugs, still speaking, as they distort memory.

the days in the hospital recovering from my adventure blur together. as time has progressed i recall less and less of my time there. i remember the funny parts. there were lots of those. i don't remember the tough parts. or at least i don't do so vividly. i remember finally getting to be out of bed for the first time, wondering why they brought me a walker to use. they brought it because i couldn't hold myself up on my own two feet after a couple of days in bed. i remember not being able to make it one lap around the ICU. then i remember walking, early in the morning and before bed, all the way to the gift shop, through the doors to the ICU and even further, all by myself. these days were sweet beyond my wildest dreams. it was all very simple. heal and get out. i wanted so badly to get out i only concentrated on healing. nothing else entered my head.

the surgery was a big step to take; many patients with my initial diagnosis do not even undergo such invasive a procedure. it was an important phase in trying to get rid of the cancer. now that it is back i cannot begin to imagine where i went wrong - where we went wrong. it was, and has been, a gamble all along. unfortunately it is a gamble with strong, poisonous drugs, burning radiation, and scarring surgery. and it hasn't played out my way. i got nine stellar months of believing i was cancer free. and maybe for two of them i whole-heartedly believed it. i began formulating thoughts in my head that i hadn't been able to concieve of in more than a year. some were small and others large, but they began to form and i was ready to make them, take comfort in the fact i was progressing into a new phase of healing and growing.

now i know those thoughts and hopes are returned to the back burner, and i feel as though i am burying them a little deeper this time. not because i don't want to have them along the way for motivation, but because they are leaving me feeling a little heartbroken. i am back to wanting to use my energy for nothing other than healing and getting out. heal and get out of cancer world. i don't know if it will be so seemingly easy this time. i hope the drugs will pound the cancer into submission and give us an idea of how to mamage my disease while affording me as much of my dreamy life as possible. but i also know there are limits to activities and energies and for now i have to take things one day at a time - even one hour, or moment - and wait to see how this all pans out.

it has been so grey and dreary here - warm, but still grey and mushy and blah - that i need a re-do on groundhog day and i need those six weeks of winter revoked. i'd like some warm sun and some green grass and to run my toes through it and feel as hopefully alive as i did that day back last april when i took the photo at the top of the post. i was full of poison coursing throughout my body but felt so strong and rode my bike like a bald little kid. two days later i was puking, but for that day i felt like my own hero. i had had few days as happy since my surgery and it was amazing to be so full of hope and happiness. i am still full of hope and happiness right now, but i know i need some help bringing it to the surface. i'm also a bit scared and nervous and if i don't take it slow i have a hard time looking past it. so bring on some sun and some poison and if all goes well i'll be here writing about it in a year.