Shayley’s not home yet from friend’s sleepover. She was really looking forward to it and suggested last evening that this would give Charlie and I “a break.”
When I woke up this morning, later that I usually get up during the week, I was tired. Really tired. Didn’t want to move tired. I’ve been this way in the morning for a few weeks. Charlie was already downstairs studying. In the steady silence of the room, my mind slipped down the well-worn groove of wondering if the cancer could be back, robbing me of energy.
I’ve had that conscious thought less frequently since my scan in November. The thought always lurks, but less often lunges.
You can’t really go by the sensations of quirky pains or even the appearance of small amounts of blood, both of which I’ve had off and on right alongside “clean” scans and scopes. Hard to distinguish between the new normal after surgeries and treatment and the signs of recurrence.
So I continued lazily relaxing in bed this morning without the will to get up. Maybe it was just that Saturday mornings are when I usually try to catch up on house chores.
But then I remember that Shayley was going to write something for a summer camp application at Grandma’s yesterday on my laptop. Without thought, my eyes POPPED open and I was energized and scrambling to get up and go look for it.
After reading that, I was anxious to read the latest on the showdown in Egypt. Then, something from Dana Jennings on nytimes.com caught my eye. Good, he’s alive, was my first thought. He had advanced prostate cancer and treatments about the same time I was dealing with advanced colorectal cancer. Though I hadn’t seen them before, the titles of his intermittent columns about life “after cancer” were instantly familiar:
Bidding Farewell to Ghosts of Pain
In Praise of Nurses
In Blood, Life’s Ebb and Flow
After Cancer, Everyday Miracles
He talked about dealing with major depression AFTER he finished treatment. I’ve been fortunate not to be hit by that. I could really relate to other things, though. He also talks about how fighting cancer broke him of his rural-New Hampshire tendencies to refuse medicines for pain, etc. He talks a lot about living in the here and now, enjoying every minute. He talks about how he has no patiences for jerks and no interest in trivia. Rather, he treasures “holy time” with family and friends. As I recall these, I imagine they sound trite or predictable and yet it was somehow reassuring to me to read my own feelings expressed so well by another.
Looking now at the topics of things I’ve written about, I see “b12 deficiency” on the list. Maybe I need to have that checked. Maybe that’s all it is.
Meanwhile, Shayley will be home soon. I’d better get to the chores so I’ll be ready to hear her new stories.
Lydeana
