Imbolc and the Moon of Tides
Thursday gratefuls: Mariposa. Andres. Alan. Bubble study. A long walk. Morning darkness. Ruby. Gas prices. Iran.
Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Resilience
Kavannah: Groundedness. Yesod. Yesod is about establishing oneself in reality, refusing to rely on comfortable illusions.
Tarot: Knight of Arrows, Hawk. I need to look at the big picture, see cancer as only a part of a long journey.
One brief shining: A cold gel. A sonar wand. Andres took the measure of my heart. Possible shunt. A walk, long, to the Evergreen Building for my PET scan. Pleased with how I held up. Once again radioactive tracers. Lounged in the recliner for an hour, reading a Joe Pickett novel. Kindle app on my phone. Lie down.
My body, investigated. Bone scan. Echo. PET scan. Baselines for the clinical trial. No more even mild claustrophobia. Too familiar.
Wearing the soft brace around my neck while out and about. My head drops. Not as far. Doesn’t strain my back. I don’t get as worn out. Though. Feels clunky. Odd.
Second Uber back from Sky Ridge. Mariposa, a squat Latina with six-inch all black nail extensions. Drove eighty m.p.h. Quiet. As I prefer due to my poor hearing.
Shadow greeted me with wiggles and kisses. I remind myself, don’t take this for granted. Remember how long it took. How much heartache.
Getting ready for this clinical trial is a trial of its own. Organize rides. Co-pay. Not cheap. A volunteer guided me each time, the hospital a maze. Sit. Again. Wait.
Charles? I’m Andres. Charles? I’m Andrew. Out of the waiting room. Lie on your side. Lie on your back. Do you want a warm blanket?
No results yet. The doctors sit in their offices far away. Reading scans. Looking at results. I sit at home, tired and lacking information.
The life. Chronic disease. Periods of being home, petting Shadow, reading. Periods of whirs, hums, the stick of a needle. Data. Learning what happens next.
Like that frog. Warming water. I grow accustomed to each test. One of these tests. One of these days. There’s nothing more we can do. The cancer has gone too far. Earlier, that would have been unwelcome news. Now? One point on this path. I’ve had a long life, one not marred by disease or disability. Enriched.
Punctuation marks. My cancer diagnosis pushed me over the line into life’s last phase, the fourth phase. In the fourth phase I acknowledge my mortality. Not as distant. No longer with that slight hesitation. Maybe not me?
I lean on friends and family. Feel my body gradually giving way. Everything is harder. Yet. I would not change this time. I’m writing my way into it.
I sit in my chair. Calm.