Dear Alessandra,
Upon waking up this morning and grabbing my cup of coffee, I opened to your latest blog message and felt the warmth and the sense of calm you were wrapped in, however momentarily, envelop me as well. What a way to start my day! Bless you. I hope those moments of serenity you were feeling yesterday are more and more frequent as the days pass, allowing you to keep the new rounds of chemo and nausea and the other unpleasant side effects in their proper place, not engulfing you in some monster wave.
Truly, when I read about the latest scan (all the more jarring because I had assumed you were off to Italy and I was happily imagining the attendant joys and feelings of normalcy that trip would engender), I could only conjur up some enormous Hawaiian wave of water, some rogue wave that even surfers might cringe at seeing. I was so scared and disheartened and angry for and with you as I contemplated this huge wall closing in. It felt so crushingly real and close. I wasn't sure I could breathe the right way after vicariously sharing your immediate reactions to the meeting with Dr. Plowman.
But now I see that you have not succombed to this giant f!#$%& at all but found a way to skillfully manuever to the side, all the while moving forward, riding the wave and surmounting it at the same time. You are AMAZING and WONDERFUL!!! I suspect that Julian, James, Ciara, your mum and dad, Lex and Lisa and Geoffrey and all your troops have helped in the process immensely, but finally it is YOU, always finding a deeper reservoir of resolve, who has had to find a sense of equilibrium again and the gutsiness to move forward. Only believe. And visualize some time in the future, after a very long, arduous journey, this wave is going to beach somewhere, making the pebbles sparkle in the sunlight and the children laugh in glee. Spot free. Liberated.
Here's to nose kisses and hugs and giggles and green tea and veggie juice!
xxxxx
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