Translate

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Restoration Software...

Waves lap softly over the shale beach. My shoulders soften back down to where they should be, lower than my ears, which can hear the voices of the fishermen in the small boat, softened by the distance. Birdsong is a soft murmur from the huge trees on shore.

Nothing restores me like staring at water, and I gaze across it, confirming my refusal to let the chemo schedule cancel our journey to this house perched on Lake Champlain, booked before therapy began. Basking here in the reflected shimmer of the water is a powerful form of therapy.

My respect for the chemicals pumped into me is endless, as well as for the brilliance of the scientists who created this regime which allows so many women to survive, when years ago, they wouldn't. When I feel outright dreadful, and even when that subsides and I simply feel off, strangely riddled, I still cheer the toxins doing their work that is saving me.

But I deeply respect other cures, too, and this vista, the glory of this sleek lake, framed in the distance by hazy mountains, helps me breathe and let go, remember that I'm more than a damaged body. Everything in nature has its own cycle of damage and renewal, including me.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Spoiler Alert: The Bletchley Circle, Season 2 - Reborn or resumed?

As an unashamed lover of British telly, I am hooked on several BBC series; luckily, I managed to convert dear husband to fandom, too. Love Child notes, eyes rolling, how predictably dull we are, hunkered in of an evening, with our "Midsomer Murder" marathons, and "Foyle's War" post-show analysis. We don't do sports; this is our sport.

Last night was practically our Super Bowl: two episodes, back to back, of new season two of The Bletchley Circle, a visually powerful, factually based drama about four women who were part of the famous code-breaking and deciphering team that is credited with shortening World War II, saving countless lives. Much of the show is about how these women fared after, in post-war London, unable to tell anyone what they'd done because of the Official Secrets Act, now in ordinary jobs or married, with children and husbands who don't know Mum was a war hero.

In last night's episode, Alice is arrested for murdering her former lover, also a Bletchley veteran, and we find out she is deliberately covering for her long lost daughter, whom she believes committed the murder. Alice refuses to fight the charge and is sentenced to hang. As her former Bletchley colleagues attempt to solve the murder, the prison prepares to carry out the sentence. In a bleak scene, she is weighed, her height is taken, and then, in a tight close up, a tape measure goes loosely around her neck; a voice intones: "fourteen inches." We see just her face; we can't - or won't - imagine what this feels like, having your neck measured for a noose.

In the end (I promised spoilers!) she is acquitted and walks out of the prison (though not into sunshine, this being London) completely free.

I could not stop thinking about that scene, wondering how it would feel. Would she now make her life completely different, dramatically throw off all that had been, and revamp the very basis of how she lives? Or would she immediately seek a swift return to the most ordinary routine, the comforting safety of exactly what she had before this traumatic event intruded?

This resonated because I have the same questions. Cancer is a traumatic event, and getting rid of it is a long and sometimes frightening ordeal, too. Mortality looms. When treatment is done, will I want to be reborn, revamping all that led up to this, or will I want to resume the safety of all I have built, the life that came before, because it is comforting?  I can see both, clearly, in opposition and in congruence. I'll keep you posted.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Making it...

Walking around bald in public is like walking around with a cuddly cute puppy; everyone likes to come over and schmooze. They don't actually pet my head, but some of them would like to. I've never, until now, been told on a regular basis that I have a really nice, round head.

Instead of tips on housebreaking and chewing disasters, I get advice like, "Baking soda can cure cancer." and "Watch this TEDTalk about wave therapy..." They also have stories about others they know who did this, sometimes admitting it didn't work; the chemo friend didn't make it. I don't much mind that - I know people who didn't make it, too, plus I read stuff.

But I know lots of folks who are making it, in every sense of the word, with cancer and without. We are all making it if we get up and open our eyes. We've all got struggles and challenges, and truly, the only difference is mine is visible. And being bald is way low on the list; it is just the one I'm reminded of when I catch my reflection and remember. But I've got a really nice, round head.