Tuesday morning

At last, Jessie and I made it to the park this morning. We went early, so early that once we got there, we sat in the car for a little while until a bit more sun peaked over the horizon. I know the park well, but I'm a little squeamish about walking its paths in the pitch dark. It was still very dark when we began, just a hint of pale yellow, eggshell they'd call it if it were paint, in the east. The pond was flat silver. The ducks were raucous. It was cold. A good walk.

I met Dr. V yesterday morning, the radiologist in charge of that portion of my treatment. I liked him. I think he may be Dutch or Scandinavian by birth, a very slight accent and a somewhat formal demeanor. I felt that of all the doctors I've seen so far, he gave the clearest explanation of both the reasons for the treatment I am receiving and what to expect from the portion of the treatment he is responsible for. On some level it sounds like the 5 weeks of radiation will be less invasive and debilitating than the chemo. However, his clarity was somewhat sobering. He discussed not only the potential "acute" side effects - short-term things like fatigue, changes in bladder and bowel, etc. - but also the possible long-term effects - that the changes in bladder and bowel could be permanent, the possibility of a bowel obstruction that could require surgery to correct. All small risks - less than 5%. But I've discovered that when YOU area red or black space on the cancer roulette wheel, 5% sounds like a lot.

I have an appointment the first week in January for a "planning" session. They will do an abdominal CT scan to figure out where everything inside of me is actually located, and tattoo some marks on my abdomen that will be the targets for the radiation treatments. I learned that I will not need internal radiation (e.g., through the vagina) only external. Apparently internal radiation is used where there is some indication of cancer having affected the cervix or lower uterus. Dr. V said that as there was no indication of that in my case, I won't need internal radiation. Since the idea of it kind of creeped me out, I'm glad about that.

I've been finding myself thinking about the longer term effects of all this on one's life, of how once you have been diagnosed with "cancer," you can't undo that ever again and go back to being what you were before. It's like losing your virginity. You're a virgin. Until you're not, ever again. One day of your life, you don't have cancer. Then you do have it or have had it. If things go well, you become a "cancer survivor" and that's what you are the rest of your life. But you can't ever go back to being someone for whom cancer was - at most - someone else's issue (maybe a loved one's problem, or a friend's). Of course almost everyone KNOWS someone who has cancer or has had it - but I'm learning the space between that and being the one who has/has had it is not small. I recall Dr. M saying that once all this treatment is done, I'll be going to see him every 3 months for at least 2 years.

I was thinking yesterday during my evening walk with Jessie about paying attention, about the fact that cancer makes you pay attention to the present, to your life right now as it exists. No more half-attention, where you're kind of thinking about what you have to deal with today, but you're also thinking about tomorrow, next week, next year - either worrying about the future or hoping for the future. Cancer strips that away and demands that you pay attention to your life in the moment you are living it. Which is good. Because really there isn't anything else, not really. So maybe this is a gift that cancer might bring - the gift of reminding me to pay attention and live, now, not later, now.

Okay, the sun is up. It's supposed to be a nice but cold day before a storm comes in tonight, bringing snow, sleet, freezing rain. So I'm off to start my day.

Peace.