I won't let it ruin my trip

“After that day, your life is never the same. "That day" is the day the doctor tells you, "You have cancer." Every one of us knows someone who's had to face that news. It's scary, it's sad. But it's still life, and it's a life worth living.” So begins Larry Siever’s blog called MY CANCER on the NPR website. I remember that day, sitting in the exam room with Bob and my son Jeff, hearing the ominous words; non-small cell lung cancer, adenocarcinoma. At the end of the discussion, the doctor asked, “Do you have any questions?” I shook my head, no. I was already asking myself, “How am I going to handle this?” Twelve years ago, Bob and I flew to Guatemala. On the same day that we arrived, my backpack was stolen with everything I had with me other than money, passport, and plane tickets, which were secure in a money belt that I wore. We sat in the local bus station contemplating what to do next. Maybe it’s just my stubborn nature or the fact that I don’t like others to determine my fate, but I refused to let our whole trip be ruined by one setback. So we boarded the bus for the long 12-hour ride to the Paten region in northern Guatemala. This one event set the stage for all sorts of experiences that we would not have had otherwise, like Bob bartering in an open market for a pair of black panties (for me of course), and my pantomiming my desire for a comb to a group of giggling women gathered behind the counter in a tiny Flores shop. So the answer to my question about how to deal with the cancer diagnosis, is the same as it was twelve years ago. I won’t let it ruin the trip.

Always I must be realistic. Illness is not something I do well. I have had very little experience with it. Actually it is the extended convalescence that I do not do well with. Lying around watching TV bores me to tears. Inactivity depresses me. So yesterday I started thinking of ways that I can keep my brain active and my creativity flowing as I spend my days in treatment with possible side effects. Writing, of course. Is it time for a memoir? Reading too. I have a number of books sitting on the bedside table; Robin Cook’s “Crisis,” Rachel Corrie’s “Let Me Stand Alone,” Vickie Girard’s “There’s No Place Like HOPE.” Crossword puzzles, like my favorite online daily crossword. Cross-stitch needlework… it was what I did while sitting beside my father’s hospital bed as he underwent chemotherapy many years ago. The repetitive nature of cross-stitch is like a meditation, calming, soothing. A quick trip to Michaels across the street, and I now have a frame and a beautiful cross-stitch kit ready to begin. Summer will eventually arrive (although lately that has been in doubt) and sitting on a park bench in the sun sounds good. Playing with Misty, scratching his tummy. Being held close in the darkness of night, knowing that I am loved. E-mails waiting for me when I open the computer in the morning. That is what living with cancer will be like… but it will be LIVING.

... PLM