Dear Friends —
If you’re anything like me, you’ve spent a small spell of time this weekend watching a set or two of the US Open, marveling at the young qualifiers and underdogs top spinning their way to glory. But what’s even more marvelous is how the crowd is bringing wave upon wave of joy to nearly every point.
I have this hunch that heaven will include five set tennis matches, complete with tie breakers, a cocktail close by, and the euphoria that comes with the confidence that each serve offers a chance to make every match new.
And what better way to recover from Moxie Round 11 than with a set or two of tennis. Round 11! How’s it all going, some might wonder? Well, truthfully, it’s a slog, but not horrible. The wackiness with early rounds — the esophagus apocalypse, keeping my nose in tact — has basically disappeared. These days it’s just the general grind of exhaustion, which lasts three or so days. I know I tolerate chemo better than many, and there’s nothing small or inconsequential about that.
In recent days I’ve had the chance to wrestle with what’s ahead with the always wise Dr K. His strong word, based on my las scan: pause Moxie after round 12 (he was even in favor of pausing after 11), and spend the next chapter of this story recovering, living fully, and working on my serve.
Careful readers might be puzzled by Dr K’s playbook here. The last scan was stable (yay!), but didn’t show the progress I was hoping for (meh). So why not push for more if I seem to not be decimated by chemo?
As it turns out, Dr K and I are playing the long game here, and pausing for an extended time out is part of our strategy.
Do I still have itty bitties in my lung that cause me toss and turn at night? Yes.
Do I have stable disease and basically feel like playing tennis most days? Yes.
Both things are true.
When it comes to most things that matter, I’m beginning to think this stubborn paradox — sweetness mixed with sadness — is ever-present, and yet we lack a vocabulary to name a deeper discovery that transcends both ends of the spectrum. So we revert to shallow claims: a scan is a win or a setback; a professional chapter is succeeding or stagnating; a relationship is true and trustworthy, or hindered by self-interests and betrayals.
I wonder if playing the long game is all about embracing the inevitable ambiguity of it all, and moving closer to the joys that come from that space where uncertainty is the only certainty.
A few days ago Lucy and I had one of those surprising breakfast chats that happen every so often with 16 year olds. Instead of the standard, “um yeah ok,” early morning exchanges, we ended up talking about her US history course. “You know mom, we are learning so much about how our founders were TERRIBLE because they enslaved people. And they were! But you know, I think some of them might have been incredible too. I wish we could sort out who was who in it all.”
I could only craft an ambiguous response. “Our country was founded by individuals who were capable of both — people who lived out the most brutal demonstration of terror, and who also had the most glorious vision and courage for creating a new era of freedom. And here’s what’s so hard: most days they lived out both. The brutal and the brave. And, if we’re honest, so do we.”
After she left for school I had a chance to turn over our chat in an empty kitchen. That’s not entirely true. Bonnie was there too, because Bonnie is ALWAYS close by. Anyhow, sipping coffee, I wondered: who’s who in my life? Are my doctors telling me EVERYTHING? Or maybe they’re hedging to make me feel better. Are friends drawing close because of who I am? Or maybe it’s because of what I’m going through?
After a few minutes discussing this with Bonnie, who — I might add — wagged her tail throughout, I realized that love comes in so many messy forms. Hedging, truth telling, loyalty, obligation, and best of all: surprise. And the best stories I know come with protagonists and plots full of flaws, full of ambiguity, and most important, full and open hearts. How else can we learn and relate, and ultimately, forgive? And is there any better long game than that?
Still, it’s often all so tricky. I suppose anyone interested in the long game needs to have grace and courage in equal measure. Grace for the crushing heartbreaks, and courage to rise above, creating new and even better stories.
After Round 12 the mental part of my climb begins in earnest. I’ll need all the grace and courage I can muster. But what I know for sure is that — like tennis — this game doesn’t have a clock.
Every new sunrise can result in a memorable breakfast exchange. Every new serve can result in another set.
Even when the scan is both delicate and stable.
Both things are true. Just like all of us.
xoxo
So profound and poignant. Thank you for blessing us once again with your reflections. My prayers are with you as your continue the journey. 💕
hmmm..I think I want to talk to Lucy about US history. Your writing is always beautiful and I always want more. Thats it, I am coming to your house on Thursday night to make sense of all of this. When we watch the next part of the Q anon documentary will something in that story line be beautiful? Is that also both? Love you Amy!