This Planetary Pilgrim is Celebrating

Today I had what we all hope was my eighth and last chemotherapy session! This is a good reason to celebrate, and we are celebrating, albeit quietly.  We did not go out to eat, nor did I get picked up from the hospital in a limo by a chauffeur wearing a classy uniform. There were no fancy wines, no prime rib roast , no exotic cheese tray with fancy crackers, no Pavlova dessert followed by a wee bit of cognac on the terrace. Yet, we celebrated nonetheless; and who knows, tomorrow morning we might go to the City Cafe for a gourmet bagel and fair trade coffee!


We (David, Ioanna, Gracie and I) are processing the day and its meanings, at home, quietly. 


Gracie, age six, asked her mother how we get cancer. You know, there are ways of talking with young children about cancer. Her uncle Josh had leukemia and lived. Another close family member had breast cancer and lived. And now, her grandmother has finished chemo.. 


Two days ago Gracie came with us to Grand River Hospital, and saw the lab technician getting blood samples. It did not hurt. She was there when they sent the vials up to the main lab, zap!!! through the shoot.


Today Gracie met my nurse Debbie, who spoke with her briefly about having met both Gracie's mother and her uncle on earlier occasions. They talked about Gracie's trip to California last year, and her trip to Puerto Rico 2 weeks ago. 


All this conversation happened while Debbie, R.N. was setting up the injection site. After a brief while Gracie went to the waiting room, to do her work. She played a word spelling tile game with her mother. She created a thank you drawing for Debbie, R.N., and another one "for the whole hospital" as she told me. This work of art now hangs on the wall behind the nursing desk in the chemo suite.


Children are all different. They need frank and open answers, and these answers vary depending on the family and on their own sense of security. In our family, our children have been a part of the process from the beginning. However, children do not need to be exposed to every episode. They need simple, truthful, matter-of-fact, loving answers, and then children move on to their work, which is play. 


So, Gracie was not present when the R.N. had to keep struggling to set up the injection site. My veins have become very flat and challenged. It took six tries, and three nurses (two of them vein specialists) to finally get a connection. It was not fun, but I was proud of myself. It is a good thing that this was the last chemo session. The veins on my one available arm seem to have become compromised. Any future chemo might need other solutions.


So how do I feel? Quiet. Amazed. Full of wonder and awe. Above all, I feel grateful. Let me use the language of my forebears: we are told by St. Paul to "Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say Rejoice." Well, I am rejoicing, again and again! 


Sure, days three to eight might get a bit nasty. Pain is likely to affect me, and dullness in my hands and legs may require medication that will make me feel like a zombie. My eyelashes might yet fall out.  Yet my family and I have gone through a rather brutal challenge and come out feeling triumphant and joyful. What more do we need to say? 


And we will surely see one another again, always rejoicing, on the way to Santiago.