The First Challenging Section

Well, I think that it's safe to say that I have officially entered the "hard part" of chemoradiation treatment. And it SUCKS!! I now have almost every side effect that the doctors warned me about: fatigue, nausea, diarrhea, awful stomach cramps, sore throat, chills, and a crazy one called "hand and foot," which causes my fingers and the bottom of my feet to be tingly, swollen and tender. The bottom of my feet feel like I just finished running a marathon -- they are so sore and tender to walk on. Ugh!!!

Pete keeps reminding me, though, that the fact that I have symptoms is a GOOD thing -- it means that the drugs are doing their job. Yesterday, when I was whining about my symptoms, he very sweetly, but bluntly, responded, "Good! I'm glad you have symptoms. We are right on track!" I love that Pete stays tough with me and that he doesn't let me wallow in self-pity. As far as "justified self-pity" situations go, having cancer has got to rank pretty darn close to the top. But Pete is not one for self-pity, and I love him for that. He holds me while I cry, but then he gently reminds me of all the ways that I am blessed and all the reasons why I can and should be optimistic about my outcome. And we talk about the all the reasons that I am scared, and he helps me realize that I am scaring myself over things that may or may not even come to pass. He has an incredible perspective on life and an incredible ability to stay focused and present, and I love him for this. What I love about Pete more than anything, though, is the fact that he said "we" (as in "we are right on track.") He told me early on that this is OUR fight, not just MY fight. I can see his point -- if it were him who were battling a life-threatening illness, I would feel the same way. We have been together now for so many years and our lives and our souls are so intertwined that I cannot imagine my life or our family without him, and I am sure that he feels the same way. But even though I know that he feels the same way as me, it was still really, really nice to actually hear him say "we." It makes me feel less alone on this crazy journey.

Last night as I laid down to sleep, I tried to put the symptoms I am having in perspective by envisioning myself climbing up my mountain....

I have reached a challenging section of my climb -- it's the first truly difficult pass I have encountered, and unfortunately I have a feeling that it won't be my last. My body is fatigued, my hands and feet are swollen and blistered from the rough terrain, my body doubles over from the cramps in my stomach, and all I want to do is fall to my knees sobbing and beat on the ground in desperation. I pause for a few minutes to scan the vast horizon around me, searching desperately for a sign of some search-and-rescue team that has been sent to save me. I imagine that they are coming to inform me that there has been a huge mistake, to tell me that Luke was right: I don't have cancer. But I know that these are foolish thoughts; merely wishful thinking. There is only one way back up, only one path to follow.

Luckily, though, when I look upwards to the top of my mountain, the skies are crystal clear and I am able to see all of my friends and loved one smiling and cheering for me, and I can see my beautiful children laughing their magical laughs and I hear them yell down to me "Mommy, keep climbing! We love you!", and I see my amazing husband holding tight to my ropes, smiling his huge smile that always brightens my day, and yelling words of encouragement. I am eternally grateful for all the wonderful people who are waiting for me at the top and who are cheering me on as I climb, because I am sure that there are other people who have attempted this climb who were not as fortunate as I. And I am sure that, when some of them came to this same difficult section of the climb, they could not muster the strength to keep going, knowing that there was nothing or no one waiting for them at the top.

So I gently, gingerly place one foot in front of the other and move myself slowly and steadily upward. And as I climb, I search within my own mind to find a place of peaceful quietude where I can go to get away from the pain and fear; a place that will allow me to continue moving through the pain toward the top of this mountain. And when I find that place, I fill it with all of the things in my life which I find beautiful and comforting. And as I snuggle down in that place in my mind, I free my body to do the tremendous job of climbing that I know it is capable of doing.