Last week, I was readying myself to suggest no more chemo; let’s go straight to surgery (with my thoracic surgeon’s approval) while I’m still alive. My oncologist, a very caring guy, suggested lessening the current protocol, but I was thinking that, having experienced these past two weeks, any chemo proves so harsh as to be likely to kill me while the tumor is still alive. And that was not dark humor talking, because I felt as if the naked truth was staring me down.
Before my chemo treatment of two weeks ago, my blood had tested healthy. I was enjoying friends on our patio. Fast forward to a week ago, Monday when Will found me lying on the guest bathroom tiled floor, too weakened to call for help. My surgeon husband couldn’t find a pulse. What’s wrong with this picture, which was in need of change in a GREAT BIG way, ASAP!
Flip the coin and within a few days, I couldn’t stop laughing while watching how naturally funny David and Ravi were together! My cheerful spirit was not in denial. My blood’s positive response to re-hydration and platelet transfusion convinced me to believe that this latest scary setback will not be the end of me.
Let’s also take this next factor into account—I know my mind would not be in this peaceful place had I not absorbed years of EMDR therapy. And I would not be in this peaceful place where I find myself to be, today, if any kind of disaster had befallen Will or our sons or our trio of grands. I’ve grown self aware enough to know that NO amount of EMDR therapy could help me to grieve peaceably if anything of personally devastating nature happened to any of them.
Currently, I’m smiling while reminiscing over the light-hearted madness, which had emanated from within the guest room (formerly David’s room), throughout this past weekend. Though I, who’d felt need to remain in my bed, had no knowledge concerning whatever was actually going on between Ravi and her beloved Uncle David, my laughter kept bubbling up at the cacophony of roars heard loping throughout our home, suggesting that two highly intelligent imaginations had thoroughly enjoyed inhabiting a wild kingdom of their own creation.
Suddenly, without warning, the roaring was replaced by childlike chatter as Ravi, who’d hopped upon my bed with brush in hand, decided to style her gramma’s hair (only days before it had had the nerve to fall out—again). Gotta love this wild and crazy family.😍
💝Happy 79th birthday weekend, Sweetheart!
Annie
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