Home!

I remember after graduating from Davis, I had my time of celebration, but it seemed short and feeble compared to the hulking reality of "now what?" that followed.  I'd been told where to be, what time to be there, what to do while there, and given suggestions for what to do between those times for so many years, I had no idea how to complete my own environment.  School took up so much time, brain space, and moved so quickly, my days began with a list of empty boxes, ended with checked off boxes, and then I did it over and over for a long time.  It was very comfortable, but also I seemed like the only way to make it through the whole thing.  (though full disclosure, I had to try twice, but that's a different story.)  Point being, the shock of empty space can take one's guard right off.  

Going to Mexico and having a completely different space to immerse in healing was nothing short of wonderful.  Before I left, I was tired of decision-making for myself.  Chronic illness of any sort is, more than anything, exhausting.  Present decisions affect the long game directly, and it can sometimes feel like there's a lot of pressure, especially when it comes to active treatment.  Considering the odds that have been defied thus far, it's unquestionable that decisions so far have been good ones, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's always my favorite thing I get to do. 

 Sometimes the freedom of decision-making is a very empowering, super-human feeling, but occasionally it's a little narky creature sitting on my shoulder reminding me I still have work to do and more to learn.  Both are useful.  Super-human is self explanatory.  No one hates that feeling.  The nark can be a gentle professor, but when my reserves are low and nark mode comes out swinging with a red pen, I know I need more help.  That was pre-Mexico, and why Mexico happened at all.  I needed more help, and was ready to accept it and participate with it.  Of course, being home has returned that responsibility back to me, but I'm well prepared and even more supported.

I would love to have a yes or no at this point as to if the tumors are responding to PDT, but it's not time for that yet.  Clinically, my body absolutely is responding--localized heat/inferno and swelling.  Neither is uncomfortable, just a little startling if I touch either area as the temperature is, uhhh, significant.  My labs this week were very similar to the two previous weeks.  Usually they start to see inflammatory markers creep up by week 3, but that's not the case yet...and may not be ever.  If well supported, the cancer can be dying and the labs showing how well my body is functioning can stay ideal.  Wild, huh?  Re-imaging with an MRI will be in October, after inflammation has resolved completely.  

I know this is a common thought for cancer patients, especially those that have travelled with it for a long time--who am I without cancer?  What does that feel like?  Even though I mostly have a very positive relationship with cancer, it has its own space and attention that it has required from me.  I'm grateful for the surgery that I had in 2019, but I'm even more grateful for the opportunity I have now.  2019 was an abrupt graduation from not-a-cancer-haver, to cancer-haver, to surgery, to not-a-cancer-haver.  There was no processing, only doing, only checking off the boxes, and then the shock of the empty space.  This time, patience in the "dissolve" is going to be very different.  And I think an even better outcome.  

So, who am I without cancer?  I don't know yet.  

But I'll find out.  

This has nothing to do with anything, but at this church in the playas, they worship a cat in a cardboard box and I can totally get behind that...  (I might be misinterpreting, but shhhhhh)