Kaleidoscope

Dear All,

Thank you as always for all your notes, messages, thoughts, and cheers. As I sit here with my trusted cup of green tea (I swear, they should recruit me as an ad campaign for tea leaves galore...), I smile for I feel your "company".

Yesterday was a kaleidoscope of a day....

I had my CT scan yesterday morning, with Julian at my side, giving me affectionate "coaching" as I went through the usual routine. I entered the scan room feeling calmer than normal, not because I was in the mindset of, "I have done this so many times before", but rather because I was thinking, "I have made progress". As the machine started whirring, I again imagined Lance on his bike, with me pounding the pavement in confident strides next to him, and hearing him shout across to me, "You're getting there! You're doing it!" I hear as much as I see my visualisations - they are powerful combinations of images and sound, and I feel them, if that makes any sense. I was doing so well until, halfway through the scan, it came time for them to inject the contrast dye into my vein.... the radiologist, a lovely and warm South African woman, took my arm and commented on the state of my hands and nails ("I have never seen side effects as bad as this before in all my years"), and then proceeded to warn me that the contrast would be very painful. "Why?"I asked, "It's never hurt that much before." And she went on to explain that my veins had hardened due to the amount of chemo I had received and that this was what would make it hurt so much. So I braced myself, and.... F*@K!!!!!!! It felt like someone was taking scissors and cutting my arm open. I breathed and breathed and breathed and as tears flowed down my face, the radiologist softly kept saying, "Just hang on in there, sweetheart, hang on in there..." And I did, and it eventually passed, and then the machine started whirring again, and I was once more alone next to Lance, running with gritted teeth, listening to his encouragement, to my feet hitting the road, to my heartbeat pounding, to my breath....And it was over. Julian was back at my side, helped me get dressed, and we were out of there, knowing that we would be back in Friday afternoon to hear the results.

I went straight to my office, having purposely previously scheduled a parent feedback that morning in order to distract myself and refocus my thoughts away from the scans. As I arrived, the couple were already there, waiting for me with apprehensive looks on their faces. I thought to myself, "I was in your seat just a few minutes before. I relate to that anxiety about the unknown, about fearing what you might find out. Trust me. I will do all I can to take care of you". And so we launched into what became a 3-hour meeting. Intense and emotional, but productive and hopeful. As they left my office, I again thought to myself, "I relate to that experience. Intense and emotional, but productive and hopeful. That was how I started my day too."

Later that afternoon, I did a testing session with a 7 year old little girl. I was feeling tired, and with that, my body began to ache and twinge, fueling the usual nagging thoughts of, "Why is that hurting?!" But then respite came in the form of the ingenuity and joy of this 7 year old, for I was invited to see the world through her eyes. During our session, when I asked her if she knew what she might want to be when she grew up, she shared the following: "I want to be a singer or a teacher. I want to sing lots of different songs and I want to teach all subjects. I love both jobs. But actually, now that I think about it, I know, I know! I could be a singing teacher!!!!! Oh, Oh, wait, I know, I know! I could teach singing lessons and also teach other subjects too!!! And, Oh, Oh, wait, I know, I know! I could teach in the morning and then perform after school! That would be PERFECT!! HOORAY for me!!!!!" With all that exuberance in the room, who the hell could even have time to sense a body ache...? :-)

My mother met me for my walk home, and we slowly made our way there, my sore feet so painfully raw but accepting of my determination to exercise. As I entered my apartment, I found James grinning from ear to ear, and squealing with pleasure as he played. He had developed a high fever a few days ago, and had been feeling awful for a while, poor thing. Typically an active little boy who doesn't stay in your arms for more than a few minutes, all he had wanted to do when sick was to be cuddled, as the picture above shows. He had spent hours in my arms - during the day, in the middle of the night, in the early morning... In those quiet hours, I spoke to him about all the things that we would do together when we were both well, and I told him how I knew that being sick was simply not fun at all, but that he would get better soon. That I would get better soon. And that as long as we had cuddles and love, we'd both be okay. He had hung on tight to me, his eyes closed, making little whimpering sounds, and we both just "were". While I loved those tender moments, it was a wonderful sight to walk through the door yesterday evening and see him bouncy and animated and happy again, fever-free and ready to party. He won our game of tag. For the 100th time.

I drank two full glasses of homemade juice (carrots, apples, celery, broccoli, cauliflower, cucumber, beetroot, ginger, cabbage), and made a huge salad for dinner (lettuce, tomatoes, avocadoes, asparagus, peas, spinach, sliced boiled egg, quinoa, mixed beans), followed by a bowlful of blueberries and raspberries. I went to bed with a cup of green tea, said my mantras, and fell asleep with a photo of James in my hands (as I do every night), and Julian protecting me at my side.

It was a full day. And this morning, as I woke up, I knew that I would be starting this new day with my troops. Tea with friends... in my opinion, there are few better ways to start your day. And so I keep moving forward, one step at a time, one day at a time, with my eye always on that finish line.

Hugs to all.