Sophie my heart, wanted to go with me since she was the only one that had not accompanied me to the infusion room in all of these months, so with her in tow she was my walking streamer, balloon and noise maker all in one - SHE was excited for both of us. I am pretty even keeled even on my most joyous of occasions- thats just how life has molded me -- not Sophie she shines through my cautious demeanor every time and soon we are both skipping in her happy parade.
I have been at St Lukes Cancer Institute nearly every week for almost 6 months, everyone knows me and I know them. I know when they call me in that I walk over to get my weight checked, I pick a chair-- I like the big plushy leather ones that are built for 250 lb. men. I sink right into them. When they aren't available I get stuck with the ones for petite patients like me and they feel hard and remind me I'm small and there for treatment and not to watch a football game at someone's dads house.
It was different on Tuesday - as I seemed to notice the slightest details that normally wash out when I go in there.
I rarely look at anyone else that is there for treatment, giving them the privacy that I long for myself. I am not chatty - those of you that know me in person know that about me. But as I wasn't trying to soak up the images from my last visit to this 'healing' room something inside told me it was crucial to document it in my memory.
I prepared a lovely card for Dr. B and set the words against the image of the tattoo that Sophie designed and we are all getting. I told the story of how the image came to be and how much we appreciated his staff. Doc was genuinely touched by it - but mostly he was pleased to see me walking out of his office against the odds of my triple negative diagnosis. I may or may not find myself back there again but he has used chemotherapy in its most aggressive way to combat the cancer within me and he was happy for me. I got a hug.
Soph asking a million questions and in my answering I looked around and noticed everything in living color in a place I go to normally with my eyes wide shut.
The first thing you notice when you walk in is the 1000 cranes hanging in the center of the room... the idea comes from an ancient Japanese legend which promises that anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish by a crane, such as a long life or recovery from illness. Sophie popped up and took a picture of them.... how many times had I stared at them and thought of the beautiful significance of it as I felt the poison pumped into my chest - and wondered if I could feel all of my fingers if I shouldn't try to fold a 1000 for myself and quickly remembered that I'm catholic...
The infusion room always seamed silent to me but reflecting on it now I understand that I shut all of the noise out to help myself cope. On this last day when I was purposefully present it was loud and busy and there were people with no hair on their head like me walking around. It was surreal... But still it was a backdrop to the sounds and emotions I brought from home my daughters voice resonated loudly and the rest was a background chatter.
Part of the ritual of the last day of treatment is that you get to ring a bell--- so as Soph finished reading her home work book about fallen angels to me, this chemical angel got her wings and we skipped out of there!
I was in and out of conciseness the rest of the day- lets not forget that I did just have chemo and for all my celebrating I was about to get my ass kicked...
I'm not absorbing it all yet- the panic from the free falling without having chemo fighting any rogue cancer cells left hasn't hit me yet. Maybe it won't. During six months I really feel as if I was a trapped animal in a barbed wire fence and when I relaxed and stopped fighting my body slipped out of the barbs. I have made peace that Gods will trumps mine. I will know when its time to go- this was not my time. The radiation will be one last insurance policy before I put this painful chapter to rest.
I rang the damn bell, I did not make any cranes, I never walked around bald in the infusion room because it was too cold in there, and in the end when my kids were in the room, they were all that I could see. Yup I am ok I am still me, still have all my priorities straight. I have a lot of living to do. Life is to short to put things off or not forgive.
Go Live!
No comments:
Post a Comment