Here I am.

Dear All,

You know when someone asks you, "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" and you try to determine which is the best option? Well, I sit here typing, posing you that same question, and wondering what your response would be.

As your replies cannot reach me, I choose to start with the good. I had a wonderful trip to Rome. While I found the traveling to be very tiring, it was worth every bit of fatigue. As these pictures show (and more will follow), my grandmother was in wonderful form. She and James bonded beautifully... on the first day, he was bringing her candy by the handfuls... by the third day, he was blowing her kisses and gently caressing her face. She engaged with him as only Nonna can, combining a mixture of playfulness, affection, praise and discipline.

I had my alone time with Nonna, and also soaked in her presence as we all sat around chatting to her. Admittedly, I found it hard to "pretend" what my life had been like over the past year since I had last seen her. She immediately commented on my short hair ("Why did you cut it? You look like a little boy"...) and questioned me about my work, my work being the reason I have given her for why I have not visited her before now. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, there were so many times when I had to get up and take a moment as I fought back tears and fought the urge to say, "Nonna, I am having such a hard time". Instead, I had quiet conversations with her in my head, as I held her hand, and silently gave thanks for being able to be with her. And I reminded myself that bringing James to see her was the biggest gift I could give her and give myself, and so we focused on him, and he gave us plenty of joy in return.

In fact, James thrived in his three days there. Not only did he travel well, but he had fun exploring and taking in all of the novelty. You could tell how much he simply enjoyed having more space to run around in! Also, while there, he learned to go up and down stairs on his own - wonderful to watch fear turn into caution turn into calculated confidence. He perfected a backwards crawl as he went down a step that divided two sections of the livingroom, the cute thing being that he would start the backwards crawl very far from the step itself, as if to say, "Just in case, I had better be prepared..."! He discovered himself in the mirror in the hall, smiling at himself, and giving himself kisses. We had some relatives come for lunch on Sunday, and he loved the attention ( and wonderful gifts - hand-knitted sweaters, toys) and the interaction. I was so proud to see how sociable he was - nothing fased him, in fact, he was so curious. He and my Aunt Paola ("Zia Paola") have a special connection, and I loved to see him with her, his eyes wide and happy as he listened to her tone and to the sing-song quality of her voice as she spoke at length to him and showered him in affection. As the photos show, James exhausted himself in all of the excitement, falling soundly asleep amidst the commotion of the Italian family together. I have so many great mental snapshots of him with everyone.

So, yes, the trip was great and worth it on so many levels. So saying goodbye was heart breaking as always, and I simply dream of the next visit, ferverently hoping that it will be soon. Nonna turned 102 years old today,

And the bad news....? Well, I returned to London to have my scans, and the results were disappointing to say the least. Everything has remained stable with the exception of my liver where ther cancer has progressed. Old lesions have grown bigger and they identified some new spots. I was crushed by the news. Simply crushed. Dr. Plowman then presented his next battle plan - a change in chemo treatment (Again! This makes it the fourth chemo protocol....), which would entail a more aggressive cocktail than what I have been on for the past 6 months. With that, I should expect the usual side-effects (pain, nausea, fatigue, hair-loss) but he could not say to what degree. I will get chemo every two to three weeks (to be determined), with new scans after three cycles.

So, tomorrow I start what will be Round #20. I am afraid of and dread tomorrow, for what it is and for what it represents. I have been an emotional mess since the news of the scans, in tears all the time, and having frequent little anxiety attacks which leave me trying to catch my breath. I have had to actively ward off negative thought after negative thought (i.e., wondering how much time I have left, images of my "last moments", visions of how I would say goodbye to James) - it has been torturous and gut wrenching, as you can only imagine. And then I fight with all my might, every ounce of my willpower, to shut those down and focus on me being healthy and well and beating this f&*ker. It is exhausting to fight off those thoughts but I do, as best as I can, so as to save my own sanity. I have never been so scared in my life - it is indescribable.

I look at the photos above and I would never say that I look like someone who has had 19 cycles of chemo. Like someone who has advanced cancer. So, I tell myself, look at the healthy you. Look at the strong you. Look at the stubborn you. Look at the fighter you. I have begun to say affirmations out loud, particularly in moments when my negative thoughts pummel away at me, as a way of refocusing. Also, I can so clearly picture all of the things that I want to do, short and long term, and I tell myself that I will do them. I have projects to develop, places to visit, people to see, love to give, change to initiate. I often envision myself several years from now, and those images feel tangible not fabricated. I talk to my liver, I talk to my body. And I hold onto hope, even when all I can do is sob, because there has to be more to my life than this. I reject any other option than a return to health.

My family has been amazing over the past few days, giving my boosters and peptalks and every kind of battle plan under the sun. New year, new tack, new weapons... but same projected outcome of a sweet-tasting, tear-jerking, personal victory at the end of all of this. You can do this, Danda, you can do this. Believe. 2010 is your year. It is the beginning of your decade. Keep that stride, get those knees up, move those arms... run, Danda, run... you are in this race until you win it.

I leave you with two pieces of writing: one Chiara's and one mine. Chiara's is a card that she gave me yesterday, in which she wrote me a note. The other is one of the many poems that I have been writing over the past year, an exercise which has given me release and comfort. I share both of these pieces of writing because I feel that they really reflect this stage of my marathon. In them, I see strength and belief and the positive energy that continues to propel me forward towards the day when I will cross the finish line a winner.

[Front of Card] "Dogs are the leaders of the planet. If you saw two living creatures, one of them does a poo and the other carries it for him, who would you think is in charge?" [Chiara's note inside the card] "Just to get through the point that although it may look like something or someone has the upper hand, the reality can be quite different. All about perspective. No matter what the cancer does, YOU ARE IN CHARGE."

Taking the Blow

You knock me down
Again.
And again.
Insensitive, invasive.
You try to steal ground,
Quietly wanting to own what is mine.
My mind spins from your slap,
My heart hurts from your punch,
My body tires from your hit.
Yes, I cry, because you sadden me.
You anger me.
You frustrate me.
You threaten me.
But I am so much more powerful than you.
I am tougher.
I own endurance, I own perseverance.
I own this body.
I own this fight.
You picked the wrong battle.
You underestimated me.
I shall clear you.
And never look back.

Hugs to all.