Insult, Meet Injury

May 21, 2010 at 10:16 PM (Energy, Mood, Treatment) (, , , , , )

I think I’ve been pretty reasonable during this hideous process. I’ve accommodated last-minute schedule changes, long-term expectation rearrangements, physical limitations, radical downgrades in physical appearance. I’ve taken it all on, maybe not smiling but resigned, and kept on going, because, really, what choice do I have?

Consider the camel’s back broken. Wednesday’s CT bad news led to this afternoon’s phone call from the clinical trial coordinator for my PI3K trial, and after a little dithering back and forth, she said that my onc wants me to start on the 21st of June. And the joys of clinical trials include really frequent office visits, which will start on the 21st and continue for the 22nd, 23rd, 24th, and 28th of June.

Astute readers (Cheesesteak) will note that that coincides with my not-widely-broadcast trip to Washington for a First Descents kayaking trip. I was really, really, really excited for this adventure; it’s totally unlike me to take on a physical challenge of this nature, and I was beyond excited to meet and make friends with the other under-40 cancer survivors on the trip. Alumni tend to refer to their “FD Families”, and I want one.

But I have to cancel. (I keep writing “cancer” – damn you, Freud.)

A quick email check-in showed that they have no other kayaking spots available for this year, although they could put me on the wait-list. I might be able to get a spot on a climbing trip in September.

Right now I’m so hopped up I can’t even conceive of this change. I booked plane tickets; bought an inordinate amount of the suggested “non-cotton” clothing. Was making peace with the fact that I’ll probably end up upside-down under my kayak and hoping I’ll have the wherewithal not to drown. I WAS EXCITED.

This is really over the top. I’ve been good; I’ve taken my lumps and (mostly) not complained. I’ve missed events, given up hope of starting a meaningful career; foregone chaperoning field trips. Gotten used to looking at the middle-aged lady who lives in my bathroom mirror, and the fact that she can’t wear high heels for more than thirty minutes. Accepted that my left leg is a whole pants size larger than my right. I’ve abandoned plans for a 5k, or the thought of becoming a decent tennis player. But I wanted cancer to give me something for all the stuff it’s taken away, and I thought that five days of kayaking and bonding with other like-minded cancer ass-kickers was an appropriate and reasonable expectation.

Apparently not.

Photo courtesy http://www.firstdescents.org

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Swimmingly

May 3, 2010 at 11:35 AM (after chemo, Family, Happy, Mood, Zen) (, , , , , , )

I’m not sure what it is about swimming that appeals to me. Probably not the part where you have to wear a bathing suit, although it’s hard to get a decent tan fully clothed. (That’s a whole ‘nother post, that one.) And it’s probably not the part where you get all wet and your hair goes nuts and your makeup washes off. (Gee, now I sound like a high-maintenance princess.)

I was on the swim team for years. Not fast, usually last. Practice went on forEVer, and you can imagine how appealing that was to the Class Couch Potato. I still wonder whether the only reason I did it was to keep my family from pestering me about never getting any exercise.

But I love to swim. In a lake, in a pool, in a river, in the ocean. The best part is swimming underwater as far as I can, trying to make it to the other end of the pool in one breath. Something about the isolation, the peace of the water bubbling past my ears, the dolphinity of the whole experience really zens me out. The blue of the pool, or the dark coolness of open water.

And then there’s snorkeling. Last week, after absent-mindedly skirting around the reefed edges of the cove beach where we were staying, Mr. Wonderful and I rented sea kayaks (!) and took the boys for an adventure to a small cay about a mile off the shore. When we had beached the boats, the boys and I explored the beach and the Custom House ruins, while Mr. Wonderful explored the apron of coral that wrapped around the south side of the cay. After half an hour in the water, he came ashore, handed me the fins and mask and said, “You won’t believe this backyard treasure.”

Compared to the anemic reef left on the mainland, this was like comparing the zoo to the African veldt. Huge schools of fish, forests of healthy coral, herds of black sea urchins gathered under overhangs. Riotously colored parrotfish crackling nibbles of algae and making sand of old reef. Angelfish the size of manhole covers. And all the while, the gentle sway of the waves and the quiet of my breath in my ears. I was overcome with the simplicity and peace of the scene, the utter irrelevance of humans to the intricate relationships playing out below me.

I stayed in the water until my goosebumps had goosebumps; giving up was almost unbearable, like leaving a loved one for a long journey. I could have gone back in and stayed for days, but we only had the boats for three hours. I didn’t snorkel again during the last three days of the trip – I guess I didn’t want to be disappointed if the next reef didn’t measure up. But the pool opens in two weeks…

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There’s no way to capture an experience like that on film or video, so I’m sorry I can’t share it with you. Do you have a favorite meditative place?

The cay is on the right side of the photo. Best snorkeling ever. Photo courtesy http://www.maho.org.

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