Let's Lace Up
Dear Friends --
Ok big breaths everyone, because this post will require an extra dose of courage and clear-eyed perspective for all that comes next.
After my lovely respite over the past few months, and especially the most recent jelly bean 90 days, yesterday it was time for another scan to assess the journey ahead. Some may remember that back in November the headline was that there was a patchwork of suspicious teeny tiny spots in my lung. But the clear consensus was that it was hard to know how, or if, that scan was all that problematic, and it was time to give this hiker girl a well-deserved break to recover after months of maintenance chemo.
After about 20 minutes of me sitting on the exam chair staring at Ted Cruz fleeing to Cancun memes and trying to sort out who on the Lovelies Group Text leaked the goods, the ever true and brave Dr V arrived, shoulders slumped. I should note as a quick side-bar that Dr V wears the most handsome suits every day he's not in scrubs. And even with slumped shoulders, his suit still managed to convey both his dedication, and commitment to excellence.
The news is this: Those teeny tinies scattered all across my lung have increased in size a smidge, so cancer is once again on the move. And because they are dispersed far and wide, there's no path here to play whack a mole and get at them one by one.
I know. It's terrible. Especially because these days I feel so very well. So deliciously well. And wouldn't it have been such a kick to have another 90 day sweetness tour among the waterfalls of Rivendell?
Alas, it's time to put my boots back on, and lace up. The mountain trek continues, ever higher.
The plan is back to aggressive chemo, so let's pause here quickly on that. We've known from the beginning that my kind of cancer isn't one that we think about in terms of cure. Rather it's a (hopefully) long chronic path of addressing danger head on, and then keeping potential danger at bay, with dashes of respites and recoveries woven in and out. What's happening now is the conclusion of a respite, and starting the chemo dance again.
It's the beginning of a new section of my grand and mighty climb. In the days ahead I'll learn if Foxy will make her return, or maybe a new cocktail of scientific magic. The oncologists will once again become the stars of this part of the play, and I'm sure even now they are rehearsing their lines.
And while this isn't the news we wanted, it's important to point out a few important nuances about my next trail. First, aggressive chemo worked exceedingly well for me last time, and even though some days were truly slogs, I managed all of it without too much trouble. Second, my overall disease burden at present is quite low (words like tiny and smidge, are in fact, true). Third, there are some hikers who have stepped into many cycles of chemo, see good progress, pause, and then treat again. And apparently these people still have interesting dinner conversations, get pedicures, walk through art museums, write lovely poems, buy puppies, wake their kids up on their birthdays with gourmet breakfasts, travel, vote, take the trash out, read novels, check in on neighbors, notice humming birds, and find time to ask all kinds of "what if" questions.
If you're wondering what to root for in this section of the climb, it's finding that balance of cycling in and out of chemo in way that a) is effective, and b) still includes hummingbirds and the occasional museum saunter.
With all of that, we can be honest here. This news is hard and ridiculous. But this mountain, like all mountains, has no patience for denial or avoidance, or even minimizing its grandeur with distraction or flawed attempts at finding unhelpful bright sides. Instead, it's nearly time to put on new socks, lace up, and truthfully begin a new ascent.
The energy for these steps is fueled by paying close attention to all that surrounds my trail. Somehow the truth in all those details at each turn -- from the majestic wonder of medicine, to Dr. V's suits, to a dear friend brave enough to hold my hand yesterday afternoon to sort it all out -- mend heartbreak. They are wondrous reminders of the grand repair, and where courage beckons me to the next part of the trail.
I will continue to send postcards describing the view, ever higher, and ever more holy.
xoxo