Strength, a Sister, and a Song.

Dear All,

I haven't written in a while, having needed time to "regroup", configure a new battle plan, adjust to the new turn in the road...The past few days have not been easy, but then, is there anyone who thinks that marathons ever are?

My body braved Cycle #20 of chemo remarkably well - I feel that my body has become the battered tank that continues to take full frontal attack after attack while still steadily moving forward. It sounds surreal to say, but it is almost as if it has become "used" to this routine... chemo has been so central to my life for over a year now, that my body and it join in an ugly but purposeful dance of sorts. Some of the steps are familiar, some of the rhythm is predictable... and yet there is always a difference in tune and tone with every time. In this cycle, the worst was the nausea, lack of appetite and deep fatigue, but I did not feel pain, did not get the "chemo coat", did not lose my hair... The effects lasted the better part of a week, and then I could tangibly feel them begin to lift. Sweet relief. I think that the physical part of this marathon is what gives me most confidence, because when I look at myself in the mirror, I simply don't LOOK like I have been through 20 rounds of chemo. I don't FEEL like I have been through 20 rounds of chemo. Today I woke up, made it through my day, and I felt normal. Energetic. Hungry. I contradict my own preconceptions of what someone with my illness and my experience should physically look and feel like. And so, I hold on tight to the strength that my body continues to show me.

My mind and emotions, however, have braved the past week with much greater difficulty. The recent scan results really knocked my confidence and showered me in doubts and fears. So much so, that I have had to actively work at getting back my determination, my positive attitude, my belief in possibility. I now say a set of affirmations throughout my day, something that has proven to be particularly effective when I am battling "negative thoughts" - it is hard to think negatively when you are saying something positive. I say these at any point in my day - in the shower, walking down the street, in bed, while I am cooking.... out loud or in my head, the statements are helpful ways of keeping my focus. It may sound strange, but I can sense a negative thought coming, and I immediately revert to my affirmations, allowing them to take centre stage instead. And yes, I still visualise and am trying to integrate more moments of meditation in my day.

But it's the people around me that continue to be such a driving force for me. My family has been wonderful in helping me with this, and you all as my troops have also been incredible morale boosters in all of your messages. But I have to make special mention of my amazing sister, because Chiara has been the one to really pull me up lately and keep me in this race. I cannot begin to describe what her pep talks are like, but they are a perfect combination of fact, of logic, of attitude, of patience, of conviction. She does not sweet talk, nor sugar coat, nor patronise. She is reactive and proactive, she is understanding and empathic, she is encouraging and persuasive. She listens to my worries, she talks me through my tears, she guides me out of the dark dead ends. She holds me tight in my lows, and kicks me in the ass when I need it. What she says makes sense, and in resonating so clearly it brings me a degree of comfort that is unquantifiable. She embodies belief, perseverance, dedication, and love.

And she is there for me without fail. Take, for example, this past Sunday. I was walking through Hyde Park with my mother, and as I watched the couples and children and families and runners around me, I became overwhelmed with a deep sense of sadness and anxiety, and burst into tears. I felt in my own little "solitary bubble", set apart from the happiness and carefreeness of those I saw, and wishing so desperately to have a moment of that reprieve, of being able to feel the weight of this illness lifted off my shoulders just for a while. And the emotion was such a wave that I couldn't pull myself together, so much so that, right there, I took my mother's cell phone and called up my sister. For the next 30 minutes, Chiara talked me through it, with my mother all the while keeping step next to me, holding my hand in quiet support as I voiced my thoughts into that cell phone, and let Chiara's words sink in in return. By the end of the call, I was okay again. The sadness had subsided, the suffocating weight had lifted, and I felt strength return. Chiara is there for me, in that way, day in and day out. Yes, this marathon has waves and winds and bumps and hills. But I have Chiara, and not only is she running next to me, but she is half carrying me on her back all the way to the finish line. She is a truly remarkable person.

And talking if people who do me a world of good.... James is thriving. He is now the master of Legos, building towers and yet to be named contraptions, which he brings to life with "Brrrmmm, brmmmm" sound effects. He has discovered the joy of drawing, and he will sit for minutes on end at a little table we have in our living room, with crayons in hand, colouring away. He loves to walk, run, climb, tumble - all toddler, all boy. He is so playful, so sociable, and his giggles are infectious. And he sings - he is a child who simply loves to sing. His song is what wakes me up in the morning, as I hear him singing a tune from his cot. His song is what fills our home as he happily putters around in exploration. His song is what brings our day to a comforting close as he hums his way to sleep. I just adore it. I just adore him.

Time for bed. Tomorrow is another day. One step closer to the finish line, with a strong body, an amazing sister, and a song in my heart.

Hugs to all.