Sunday morning

Back to the park this morning, but a foreshortened walk as the Big D came knocking. I did not see the heron, but I am not concerned. She is there. Many birds calling. Although we arrived at the same time as yesterday, perhaps because it was Sunday there were quite a few more people. That just means I have to get up earlier, be there when the sun is actually rising. I did see a hawk in a tree, recognizing it as a bird of prey by its silhouette, but not able to tell what kind of hawk or possibly harrier. It was calling its short rasping call over and over. What a wimpy call. Like a whimpering puppy.

I joined M yesterday afternoon to see her granddaughter in her middle school yearly theatrical production. S was great and the production was fun. Seeing more than 100 sixth through eighth graders singing, dancing, acting, remembering lines and generally appearing to have a good time was a life affirming activity for me.

I am bald again. Actually I think more bald than the first time. Yet there is this disgusting little ... fuzz stuff. Not quite hair, but keeping my skull from that nice shiny real "bald" look. It's the fuzz that gives me the Uncle Fester look (combined with my glasses). I guess I could shave my head, but that seems extreme. It's funny but I miss my 3/8" re-grown hair more than my old "normal" hair. When this is over (wow - first time I think I may have written those words: "when this is over") - when this is over and my hair again starts to re-grow, when it gets back to at least where it was before this second round of chemo, about 3/8" or slightly more, I'm taking off the scarves, hats etc. and going about with that as my new "haircut".

This week is Passover--first seder Monday night, second seder Tuesday night. It's been a while since I really "looked forward" to Passover, and can't say that I am this year. However, if the Big D is still loitering in my vicinity, then a few days of matzo ought to do him in. I've signed up to go to the community seder at my synagogue, at my friend D's suggestion. She's still recovering from back surgery. We're going to go and hang out and try to have some fun. Likely easier for D since she can comply with the Passover injunction to consume 4 glasses of wine, while I still have to stick to grape juice. But it will be fun to watch her get a little sloshed, and even egg her on a bit.

Then one more week and Chemo #6. Even though it will be wonderful to know it is the LAST one, I still am not in any hurry to get to it. I basically just dread it. I have so much respect - increasing as I go through this myself - for people with cancer whose treatment protocols call for them to go through much much more intensive chemotherapy than I've had to do. My ex husband, S, had to go through 5 months of chemo, every month like this: week 1 - chemo type 1, week 2 - chemo type 1, week 3 - chemo type 2 - week 4 - off, and then all over again. 3 chemos every month. As he went along, his blood counts worsened, and they were unable to do every chemo every week. He'd have to wait longer, for his counts to come back up. So instead of 5 months, it took more like 7 or 7 and a half months. My protocol of 6 chemos, each 3 weeks apart, seems like heaven. At the same time, it has been a cumulative experience - physically wearing me down and, I am beginning to recognize - psychologically wearing me down, too. The first time I was just petrified: not knowing what to expect, thinking my hair would fall out over night and I'd spend days throwing up in the toilet or something like that. As I get close to finishing, friends seem to assume I can't wait to go through Chemo #6 to "get it over with." But that's not how it feels to me. It's still something I HAVE to do, and will do, but my feeling is I can certainly wait every day, every hour until I actually MUST go through it one last time.

The sun seems to be coming out. There's a nice March zing of chill in the air. Perhaps human beings will wake up all over the planet today and be kinder to one another. I'll try.

Peace.