I still haven’t rebounded from that final chemo hit, yet, but even through the hazy glare of the drugs, and the drugs for the drugs, and the drugs for the drugs for the drugs, I’m starting to see the sunshine again, and it’s a nice, cool, dry kind of sunshine, not the sticky, gross kind that makes you want to throw up. So Amen.
A variety of emotions keep rolling through here, like turbulent Midwestern weather, but mostly what I’m feeling right now is immense gratitude. For all of the usual people in my life who kept on doing the usual things in their usual gracious ways so reliably, and then did a whole bunch more things on top of that. I have you all to thank more personally and I will. It may take the better part of the next decade to do it right, but I have plans.
I also want to thank you, my readers, because even though I can’t see most of you, every once in a while someone will come up to me and introduce themselves, maybe give me a big hug, and it’s a little bit like magic. Like we share a little secret garden between us (except you’re the one doing all the weeding while I sneak around stealing carrots and nibbling on the basil plants). It’s given me a lot to think about in terms of the importance of community in our lives and the changing ways we define it. So, thanks for sticking it out through the messy stuff, including, but not limited to, The Constipation Series, Parts One Through Infinity.
Anyway, my treatment continues for another year, but I expect I’m through the worst of it. I’m very much looking forward to the day when cancer doesn’t show up in every post I write. My doctors tell me it won’t always define me, but I suspect that it will for a little while. I still have a few more things to say about it, but I hope to regain my focus over the coming weeks on what has been, and will likely continue to be, such an important part of the recovery process: good food. Because, when all is said and done, all that vomiting really works up an appetite.