Let it Rain

So here I sit, another rainy summer (almost) night in Georgia.  The rain feels like a glorious blessing upon the hard, hot earth around us.  The lightening and thunder are a magical play between beauty and rage.  As I sit here on my porch, soaking it in, I can't help but feel content, safe, refreshed, cozy, loved.  There is something about a summer storm that stirs me.

First of all, I'd like to put out a huge thank you to all of you who have sent your love my way.  I have no words to describe how much it means to me that you spent the time to spread your love and open your heart in such a difficult time.  I need your love, and you totally delivered.  So I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  Goodness, my words can't even express my gratitude.  

The news I heard on Tuesday knocked the breath out of me.

"Possible recurrence"

"Suspicious nodes"

"this is shitty shitty news"

"remember, you are a survivor"

By some sort of grace...people say the grace of god....which, in this instance makes me believe, I was with my aunt Becky when Dr. Hamrick called me.  I was with Becky, she's a therapist/energy worker, because I knew that the waiting game excruciating.  I knew that she could help me move the energy that was stress, that was pain, that was fear.  We worked for 45 minutes on this before I even got the call.  And then, the phone rang, and I heard the news, and Becky held my hand tight and gave me confidence to keep listening.  Dr. Hamrick delivered bad news again, how many times now is this??? And again, he imbued kindness, and compassion, and courage and hope.  I still can't believe how much this meant to me, but his words, and his way...I carry with me.  He is a good doctor.  Becky is an amazing aunt.  She held me and sang to me and let me cry.  She even cancelled her next clients because she didn't want to leave me alone.  Expansive love.

When I hung up the phone with my doctor I experienced a rage like I have never had before.  I screamed like I had gone haywire.  I pounded pillows. I cried. I yelled.  Until I felt hollow.

And I sat with that for quite awhile.

Michael and my mom came to get me from Becky's.  Dad came later and we sat on our front porch for a long time processing, and being together, and trying to laugh.

So the news...there are three areas that are lighting up on the PET scan, all in the same area as I have have had before, in the mediastinium (heart area).  Two are very very small lymph nodes that are lighting up very dimly, barely above background.  The other is sort of a sheath that is above my heart, but in front of my thymus.  Dr. Hamrick consulted with Dr. Bashey, my bone marrow doc, and they decided that before we do anything, we need to do a biopsy of the area to confirm that there is even anything to worry about.

Patty sent the most elevating e-mail I've read in a long time listing several scientific articles talking about the incidence of false positives on PET scan with lymphomas after treatment.  From reading, it looks like we somewhere like a 40% chance that there is a false positive.  Wouldn't that be lovely!!??

Last night Patty and Mary came over for meditation.  I was present, kind of.  It was nice to have them there.  Our time together has been solid, and meaningful, and a transformation.  Where this goes, we don't know, but it feels deep, and real, and magical.   Michael cuddled me to sleep last night.  And this morning, I woke with a face swollen from crying like several bees had stung my face.

Mom picked me up at 7am, like old times! And we headed to Northside Hospital to meet with the surgeon.  I am scheduled for a biopsy on Monday morning.  So we hold our breaths and wait.  ... again...

I also had an appointment with the pulmonologist today because I failed my preliminary test with at the oncologist on Monday.  Back in January when I was tested I had perfect lung function, and now I am at 75%.  The good news is that it is repairable, and I just need to exercise the lungs and the body.

Mom has been keeping me company, and I really have enjoyed the perks of being 100 days past transplant.  I've enjoyed salads, shopping, walking around without a mask, and even enjoying moments where I take off my head scarf without caring what anyone else thinks.

So this past day has left me sitting in a depression that seems hard to shake. But it seems as if it is not coming from fear of the future, nor out of sadness or worry even.  What I feel is this.  I feel 1. angry, angry that I even have to deal with this, again.  2. jealous, jealous that other's have been healed from this and I keep struggling, (this is the "good cancer" after all), and 3. like a failure, a failure because I feel like if you just work hard enough, you can succeed (remember, I am an A student).  We've tried so many things, and still, we have to sit with this.

And just stating that makes me even more pissed off because all three of those statements are disgusting.  One, anger...well, this is life sweetheart, and shit happens.  Look at all the people suffering right now.  What makes you so special?  Two, jealousy?  I should be happy for the people who have survived and thrived, and I AM, but why can't it be me too?  And three?  well, everyone says this isn't your fault.  And yes, okay, it isn't.  Let's believe it.  

So speaking my mind does ease my suffering.  And in the words of my mother and husband....stop worrying about stuff that you don't even know to be true.  It is true that we don't know what is going on. We need more information.  So yes, that does bring comfort.

Where my mind goes to when it eases away from the suffering is that I can just imagine myself a month, or two months, or a year from now thinking how I've felt as recently as a week ago.  That this journey has been one that has been tough, but has been one of the best things that could have happened to me.   I have a richness to my life that wasn't there before, in mind, body and spirit.  I have made connections with people, myself, and the divine that trump any experience thus far.  I have soaked in the deliciousness of love, of living in the moment, and of appreciation and gratitude.  And I just hope that the lessons going forward will enrich these facets even more.  I believe they will.

So on with living.  I've decided that if I am not in treatment I am going to continue living my life FOR the living, and not put plans on hold because of the "what ifs".  Michael deserves it, and so do I.

Again, you all totally make the world go round.  Thanks for your love, for your kind words, for your support, your hope, and for just being you!  I look forward to many many more years with you.

Let It Rain