Perspective

     I am on the road to recovery and wellness. I plod ahead, faithfully taking small steps forward. I cannot really make out what lies ahead of me. It's unknown territory. Sometimes it seems that everything will work out alright. Sometimes it seems that I will be broken forever. I strain to see a positive future. The alternative is too scary. While my visions of the future are murky and unclear, my memories of the past are tangible and real. I can crystallize my perspective simply by turning and looking behind me.

    16 months ago, I was reeling from the devastating blow of being diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I was panicked about death and my final preparations for that event. Today I am at peace with death. Death does not scare me. The final deteroriation of my body before death is what scares me. I will not be able to escape that final loss of control. I hope to maintain my dignity during the surrender. The release will be sweet. Surrender has brought me peace.

    1 year ago, I was starting chemotherapy. I had just lost all my hair except my eyebrows and eyelashes. I was bald for over a year. My hair and lack of said hair is an instantly recognizable sign of being a cancer patient. I look forward to the day when I am no longer so visible. My hair has started to grow back and is about an inch long now. My hair will bring me normalcy.

    4 months ago, I was laying in a hospital bed with a perforated bowel. I had just finished 11 months of chemotherapy. My immunity was non-existant and I was septic. My whole body was infected by the bacteria that had escaped from the holes in my bowel. My oncologist has subsequently told me that he placed my survival at 20%. I survived. My cancer cannot be found. My oncologist was so happy to see me walking into his office for my post-surgery check-up. He shared my story with his student. The whole team came into the office to see me and everyone was happy and smiling and hugging. Their joy brought my success story into focus. I finally understood that I had overcome huge hurdles on my road to recovery. While I fought the little daily battles with nausea, diarrhea, vomiting or fatigue, I had lost sight of the big victories. My cancer team brought me perspective.

    2 months ago, I could not walk anywhere without my walker. I barely had the energy to get myself to the bathroom. I relied on my mother to bring me a glass of water. I was pathetic. Today I can walk through the house on my own. Granted that my gait is unsteady and I still tip over sometimes, but I am walking! I have been out to dinner and to the art museum lately. Yes, I still have to use the walker in public. I have noticed many other people who have challenges greater than mine. I have noticed the men in wheelchairs in the park, the woman at physical therapy who cannot stand, the man at the psychologist's office who has to drag his right leg behind him. Those people have taught me to not be such a whiner. That f*&ing walker has brought me humility.

   1 hour ago, I could not clarify my own thoughts. I knew I wanted to write about progress, about being able to judge progress not by looking ahead to a distant goal, but by looking back at how far you have come since you started the journey. Now, I have sifted through my scrambled thoughts. By writing this blogpost, I have gained insight into my unsettled mind. This brings me contentment and peace.