THIS PLANETARY PILGRIM HAS PASSED THE HALFWAY MARK!

So I have passed the halfway chemo mark. There are many ways to celebrate this, and we will celebrate all weekend, but there is no better way than to echo my Muslim friends: "al hamdu li llah!" This phrase is on my Muslim friends' lips night and day, and it means "Glory to God" -- for the good things and for the perplexing surprises, and even for the hurts and aches that we meet in life.I have learned a great deal from this attitude.

What does passing the halfway mark in my journey with chemotherapy mean to me and my family? It means that I have completed 4 out of eight treatments. It once seemed that we would never get this far!

Time hangs heavy when you wait. If you don't believe me, check out that Sesame Street Monsterpiece theatre video parody on Waiting for Godot. I love reading and staying busy. I am not affected by boredom. And I am a cheerful person that is interested in many things. But chemo takes the wind out of your sails. You get tired, and are at risk of becoming depressed.

Depression is a window that I have had little exposure to in my personal life. I get fraps and freakings out, but not depression --some people would say that I am not likely to get a heart attack, but am likely to give a heart attack!

So the waiting has been heavy. And this is where friends have come in. Mieke, Marian, Kathy, Lynda, Debbie, John, Sara, Pauline, Lucia, Wasan, Elaine, Mary, Douggie, and so many others! Coffee and Greek food at Melitsa's on Belmont, a sandwich at Vincenzo's, Tim Horton's visits and a RRoll up the Rim card! Such delights! Therapeutic tough has been an amazing resource to keep me focused and relaxed. Emails from far and near, and a special chapter dedicated to my children's friends. 

And family! My sister Grace who took me shopping for eyelashes (which I have not needed yet, Grace, but I am ready!) and gives me courage in word and deed every time we talk, and my sister Pichi who came from Puerto Rico and helped me figure out pharmacy information on chemo and also gave me some not-too shabby lessons in courage.

Two metaphors of grace and beauty characterize my wonderful sisters. Through hell and high water, I imagine Grace as a smooth, strong, classy and determined biker, moving along the bike paths in New Jersey, and in Manhattan, by the river. It is not always easy to meet the challenge of the wheels on the path, other bikers, the sun in your face, and of muscles asking for a break. But she keeps going, despite interruptions and pain, sure to reach her goal.  And I imagine my other sister, Pichi, as a resourceful bullfighter, now shaking her red cloth, now turning away in disdain from the bull, now coaxing a response, now taking a serious aim, silently assessing problems with unshakeable faith. How did I get two such strong women for sisters? Parents, perhaps? Have their children shaped them? Work? Faith?  Three metaphors, the Biker, the Bulfighter and the Pilgrim. Thinking about each metaphor has helped me to survive these four weeks, and  will help during the four treatments of the next eight weeks

Carolyn, my other sister (she is David's sister) has been here this week. It has been fun, and very helpful, as she accompanied us to chemo yesterday. Today she is helping us to get our home ready for my daughter, who arrives soon from Ottawa for a visit. What a blessing she has been, supporting, talking, laughing with us.

Lots to write about. a chapter on my David coming soon, and on my children. They are part of my symbols of pilgrimage.

And a simple chapter on the pharmacology of chemo, and how that will change during the next four treatments.

Off to the airport, to get Ioanna, and we will see you around, soon, on the way to Santiago!

Some Times Planetary Pilgrims Lose the Filter Between Their Brain and Their Mouth!

The pharmacist warned me there would be days like today. Some medications make you have up and down mood swings, and you might speak out of the wrong side of your mouth. Today, it happened.

My friend Sara kindly came to visit during the third chemo session this afternoon. When I told her my little story, she laughed and said "I guess you lost the filter between your brain and your mouth!" How right she was! How important those filters are, and how much we need them as part of the ever-so-essential lubricant in human encounters!

It all started in March, when lymph nodes were removed from my left arm. As a result, I only have the right arm available for taking blood samples, or for injecting IV medications. I am still getting over this. It feels like a big loss, and I might be worrying about it more than I thought I was. 

When my nurse tried to find a vein this afternoon I was somewhat anxious. After she had rubbed my arm for what seemed like a long time,  a   l  o  n  g    t  i  m  e,   I heard my voice saying very sweetly "You can't find it, can you?" (It was indeed my voice, I can confirm this!) 

Eventually a vein was found; I was gently pinched, and a needle was inserted. Shortly afterward it was taken out with the explanation that the vein was not responding properly. 

When one has little to worry about, one worries about little things. I could feel my stress level rising. After a brief dialogue about "what happens next?", my nurse asked a colleague to try the procedure. This second effort was successful and  we were off to the races.

I am mentioning this as an example of how simple my concerns are these days - whether we find a vein! Hello!!! Of course we will find a vein! 

Also, I am telling this story as an example of how one stresses over whatever - big or small - is on the horizon. 

A third reason is the lesson I learned  about "filters", as my friend Sara helped me to identify.

I need to stay alert, to hear my voice. I cannot always stop myself, perhaps, but I can listen. Today I was able to speak kindly to my nurse after my chemo, and to thank her for trying so hard to get me started. 

This evening I was reminded of a good Psalm for Planetary Pilgrims. Listen to a few lines:

"... You have searched me and you know me, you know when I sit and when I rise, you preceive my thoughts from afar. ... you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely. ... Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I fly from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me..."

I need to be aware of my humanity, cut myself some slack, even on days like today. I need to listen to myself, to be aware that before a word is out of my mouth, a power greater than I is present in the encounter. I need to listen, to trust myself, to be willing to admit it when I blow it, and to make amends in good faith.


Today I had my third chemo. Five more to go. Now I must go take my magic pills, to ensure a minimum of side effects. Tomorrow I get to go with two darling friends to Tai Chi at Hope Spring. Will tell you about it later. 


How lucky I am.We will see you again, listening and staying mindful, on the way to Santiago.