holding pattern

have you ever found yourself stuck in an airplane, high above the city you're trying to reach, going round and round without sign of imminent landing? the thought crossed my mind the other evening. this seems to happen most often when coming home from a vacation. at first, philadelphia glistens in the distance, lights illuminating the dark night, and i always think it is such a lovely way to see the city. i can pick out highways and buildings, pinpoint landmarks, and, in a way, ease into the idea of being home instead of being wherever i had been for a few days, or a week, or more. but after a couple of loops high in the sky with a view of other planes lining up for landing, and my momentary ability to concentrate on all the good aspects of the holding pattern wanes. i want to be on the ground, i want to be picking up my luggage, and i want to be crammed into the van for the ride back to the car. and i want it all now, naturally.

my life seems to be in a holding pattern, and it remains so for the next two weeks or so. first of all, there is the immediate relief that comes with not having a scan. for six weeks, despite ridiculous amounts of drugs, new side effects, more trips to the hospital and less time feeling like myself, i have not had bad news. i have been able to sit back and know that no matter what the day brought or will bring, it was not and will not be bad news, at least pertaining to my cancer. it feels almost indulgent, almost luxurious.

second, i have had some time to know exactly what is going on. for six weeks i have had a set schedule and i have known what to expect. this is sometimes more than non-cancer patients can have in their life. as a life-long planner and organizer, this has been nice. i know that on this night, i will have a headache that incapacitates me. but on this night, i can have a cheeseburger and thank you, i will. this day will be spent at the hospital, but this day will allow me to get some work finished without distraction. it makes decision making, from my perspective at least, pretty damn easy. yes or no. hot or cold. black or white.

but, there is a sense that this routine kind of sucks. not that i really think i'll get to resume any "normalcy" at any point, but the drugs and their side effects and the entire effect it has on me and my family and my friends, i want to know it is working. i want to know it isn't for nothing. and if it isn't working, i want to know. i want to know what the plan will be. i need to know i am being as proactive as possible in keeping this monster from taking over my body too quickly. i look for tiny signs that might mean something, that, in reality, probably mean absolutely nothing at all. there's no pain in my rib when i'm climbing, it must be good news. i'm not coughing as much. it must be good news. but i'm so, so tired. it must be bad news. this isn't constanly going on in between my ears, but it happens. i spend a lot of energy quieting the commentary. there isn't an answer now, and i have to go back to just enjoying that fact. there will be a point, probably, when there are too many answers.

today i decided i need to get a port for the administration of my chemo. my veins are getting really bad. it is taking two tries to get in, and one of the best nurses is the one trying it. usually i don't even know when she's stuck me. now i do. i can see in her eyes, in mom's eyes, and i can feel it in my heart. i think it is time. i've been waiting and waiting. i am pretty skinny and the port will be obvious when you look at my upper chest, in the sternum area. it is small, but i have always viewed it as an obstruction into my life; a very real manifestation of my life as a cancer patient. no one really notices radiation tatoos. this will be more obvious. i'll meet with my oncologist a week before hand, getting scan results and determining what the plan will be. that will be the last chance i have to change my mind. i'm glad i have this option for an out if need be, but iv chemotherapy is pretty much going to be a constant in my life, and i can't keep putting my psyche through the rigors of having to be stuck and stuck again for the iv. on top of it, the gemzar won't burn in it, a huge plus, if i stay on this drug.

so. holding pattern. no answers for you or me. but no bad news. and that is a good thing. we'll land eventually.