As I get ready to head off to my second round of chemo today, I’m reflecting on how I’ve been a different version of myself lately, especially in the last three weeks since my first chemo. I’m weepy and quiet and have much less tolerance than I usually do for willful ignorance, stupidity, idle gossip, and people who aren’t open and honest. Heck, I even started feeling bad for the Red Sox and their ten game losing streak, but that stopped yesterday when Big Papi got his groove back and my good juju helped them win. Damn!
I am considerably more weepy and sentimental and would love to chalk it up to chemo brain, but that would be the easy explanation. What is really going on is that I have come right up to the precipice of my mortality. I am standing as close to the edge as I’ve ever come. I know I just turned 62 last week, but in my mind, I am 19. I visualize numbers in my head as a series of connecting lines, a continuum, where at number 10, the line takes a right turn, then at number 20, another right turn. I am permanently fixed at the corner between 19 and 20, where all things are possible and endless, life is in front of me to make of it what I will, and the gold ring is out there for me to figure out plans (and contingency plans if the first plan didn’t work) as a way to grab it.
When I met the first time with Dr. Annette Fontaine, my oncologist at the New Mexico Cancer Center in Albuquerque where I am getting chemo, she told me, “If you had come to us this time next year, you would have been in very bad shape.”
“Like, what kind of bad shape are you talking about?” I asked her. “Would you have been able to save me?”
“I don’t know,” she told me and held my gaze. “What you have is very aggressive and life threatening and we need to start your treatment now.”
When I asked her if she could save me now, she said, “Yes.”
I’ve been hanging on that “Yes,” but it’s the thought that I could possibly have only had one year left that is causing me to reflect, re-examine, and think about moving my mind’s eye further up that number continuum in my head.
I’ve dug deep my whole life. I couldn’t have done what I’ve done or become the person I am today without spending my adult life digging deep, getting help, and being as honest with myself as possible. Knowing, though, that this could have been the last year of my life has pushed me into new territory, into an unknown frontier that I didn’t plan on going to.
Since this whole mess started, I’ve been told more than once that I’m lucky. I certainly don’t feel lucky having cancer or feel lucky being branded with a Scarlett BH (bald head), and I don’t believe in that 8th grade concept of being lucky just because you are. For years I had a quote from Jack Nicholson hanging over my computer that said, “The harder I work, the luckier I get.”
If I’m lucky it’s because I’ve worked hard to make my luck. I have wonderful doctors who have been referred to me by wonderful friends, friendships I’ve worked to grow and maintain with loving, caring, incredible people whose relationships are important to me. I’m hanging on to their love and support.
I’m also hanging on to everyone who is thinking of me and all of you who are taking the time look at my blog.
Thanks for reading.
Beautifully written Nancy. Don’t give up the day job!
Much love, Senga xx
In my head, I’m 17, and you’re my 19 year old sophisticated, impossibly cool friend 🙂 Love this blog, and love you xoxo
Nancy,
I’ve rarely seen such determination in a person. Learning Chinese, embracing new cultures, developing a new career, being who you truly are – a very generous, caring, insightful friend. I wish you strong healing at this challenging time. Sending you my love, Rita
Dear Nancy,
Your incredible writing ability provides us with your in-depth feelings about what you have to currently deal with. And that powerful wisdom of yours is a gift you’re presenting to all of us who know and love you.
Thank you,
Irma
Nancy
I love reading your blog. Your writing is wonderful and your honest feelings and wisdom are quite touching. I really do think of you daily and hope that with all the good thoughts coming your way you will see healing at the end of this.
Xo, Linda
Thank you for sharing your thoughts. Your words move and inspire me. When I first met you at Alma’s dinner, I saw that 19 year old in you. Full of the joy of life, excited and delighted by it. It’s what made me want to know you. In your presence, you makes us feel young and full of possibility, too. xoxo
Lots of food for thought. Thanks.
Heck, I even started feeling bad for the Red Sox and their ten game losing streak, but that stopped yesterday when Big Papi got his groove back and my good juju helped them win. Damn!
That’s the Nancy I fell in love with
The woman who writes like that
And calls on good juju to get her groove back
Happy Birthday!
Next year we’re celebrating you with a ten pound chocolate cake
Love,
Nadine
Thank you so much, everyone, for all your comments and kind words. It means a lot to me to read them. This is all so challenging, your thoughts and words are pulling me through.
Love, Love, Love, XOXOXO,
Nancy
Lucky to have met each other, to have shared so openly and willingly.
Xoxoxo