Oceans
I have a feeling that my boat
has struck, down there in the depths,
against a great thing.
And nothing
happens! Nothing …. Silence … Waves
-Nothing happens? Or Has everything Happened,
and we are standing now, quietly, in the new life?
~Juan Ramón Jiménez
Sometimes, most times, it seems that life goes on as it always has. There has been no change, except that I spend every Monday with IV needles transferring poisonous chemicals into my veins.
Sometimes, most times, it seems that life goes on as it always has. I drive up the hill to the college, go to my office, and do my work. The campus looks the same, my office looks the same, the students look the same; but, my reflection in the window on the entrance door reveals a woman with no hair and a baseball cap. I am always taken aback when I see her. That is how much, most of the time, it seems that nothing has changed.
Of course, much has changed. My energy level is half of what it was five months ago. My activities at work and in the community have been diminished by at least 30%. I watch many more movies and spend more time on the couch. I am now one of the over 200,000 new cases of breast cancer this year. I am in the midst of a battle with a life-threatening illness. Yes, the prognosis is excellent; but, it is not over yet. I still have 2 more weeks of chemo, surgery and radiation, eight months of weekly Hercepton treatments, and years filled with the fear of reoccurrence. I am in the midst of a long marathon run.
I have never completed a marathon; however, I can imagine that it is not after 5 miles, or even 10, that one experiences a sense of victory or change. But indeed the change comes after the victory. I can imagine that at mile 15, 18, 20, etc., the runner is more in the moment, keeping a steady pace, taking one foot on the road at a time. It is the same for the marathon of cancer treatment.
My doctor told me I was a hero and that he was very proud of me. He was proud of my saying yes to life and having a good attitude. I don’t always feel this. Instead I am waiting for the movement, for the change, for the “aha” moment.
I am feeling at an all time low. Perhaps it is the last days of winter. Those days when there isn’t even an anticipation of spring. When the world just seems gray and drab and my life as I have known it is non-existent and new life still lies dormant under the compost of winter.
Spring is happening on the outside but has not made its way into my heart and soul. There are daffodils on the hillside and in the flowerbeds at the college. I need to fill my apartment with daffodils and open my windows to the sound of birds singing in the early morning. It is time to come out of the cave of winter, to walk by the river, to see the signs of spring and new life all around.
Letters 
Though I have never had to go through what you must right now, you just made me think what would pick me up if I was down? Daffodils are a great idea. In fact, they are my favorite flower. I think that your idea of filling your apartment with them is a good start. Another idea is to go deep inside yourself and remember happy thoughts. Think back to things that made your laugh in the past. Like those porch parties in Binghamton with all of your good friends. I find also that listening to childrens laughter always picks me up. My heart tells me that you are not only going to make it through this battle but you are going to come through it like a star!! I saved the picture of the mohawk haircut and the one thing that makes me smile about that pic is that I can see your smile. Keep on smiling because alot of people love and care about you and are praying that soon you will be dancing and have all of your energy returned to you. The world is a very blessed place because you are a part of it.
Bonnie,
As I read this latest blog, I tried to remember what it felt like at the end of chemo and then radiation. I had to revisit feelings that I thought I had long since buried. I know that you have surgery and radiation ahead of you, so you are indeed in the middle of a marathon.
As strange as this sounds, while I was undergoing chemo, radiation, there was a sense of sisterhood/brotherhood with those who were going through what I was. We were a support system for each other. So at the end of treatment, while I rejoiced that it was finally over, there was also a fear of losing those who “understood.” We talked a different language than most folks; for most, priorities shifted; for most, perspectives changed. That is, the day-to-day pesky problems for most became insignificant to our “family.”
There was a correlation in the way the others treated me once treatment was finished and I began to look somewhat “normal” again. The more I began to look like “me”, the further they distanced themselves from the fact that I had had cancer. I sensed that they were relieved that they thought my ordeal was over, and that I could simply pick myself up from that dreadful day that I found out I had cancer and move forward. But it isn’t that easy. You are right — recurrence is always on the mind because we don’t know if “it” will return. But then, again, I thought, we don’t know either when we are going to leave this good earth. So I choose to let that “fear” become a reminder that I will not react to the pesky problems of life and focus more on what’s important to me.
I understand what you’re feeling (or not feeling) physically. I also understand what you’re feeling (or not feeling) emotionally. Right now, you’re tired and your initial enthusiasm and positive attitude are waning. It’s hard to be upbeat when you just don’t feel the same. The road has been long and it seems never-ending. So far too go. So many hills to climb. But, Bonnie, you will climb them. Life will level out. You will develop your own life rhythm.
Open your heart to spring. It’s there. It’s always there.
And so am I… I’m here and I’ll always be here.
Looking forward to seeing you walk by the river!!!
Carol