An improvised life

I’m overdue for posting! Many thoughts, but I’ll start with an update. For the past few weeks I enjoyed a bit of a holiday from being a cancer patient. Chemo toxins purged, arm and shoulder recovered from surgery, eyelashes and eyebrows flourishing. I even got a falsie (aka breast prosthesis), so I am feeling downright human again. The feeling might be short-lived, as I started radiation today and already feel like I have a mild sunburn in the irradiated area. I’m slathering it with something called Manuka cream and plan to procure more potions; apparently the impact is cumulative and the discomfort and fatigue tend to worsen through the six-week course of treatment.   I’m getting used to my scar and zone of no-sensation, and so is Alder. I don’t know if I’m creating (yet more) fodder for future therapy sessions, but I don’t always bother to kick him out when I’m getting dressed. I was careful about the surgery area for a while because I thought it might be a jarring vis

A friend who beat endstage cancer wrote that work and his colleagues pulled him out of the disorientation of his unexpected second life, and anchored him to his future. While I’m not facing the emotional confusion of stage 4 cancer, I’ve been thinking about what anchors me to life. Clearly, my children are the unbreakable link. I distinctly recall, upon learning of John’s death, feeling that I was now the one remaining lung, the one kidney, and had to guard my life that much more carefully. I thought of our friend’s daughter, born with with only one functioning eye. She wears clear eyeglasses to protect her good eye. The risk calculus changes when there is no back-up, and I have made more conservative decisions than I otherwise might have, turning back in uncertain snow conditions, avoiding small planes. I have been keenly aware that widows have a high rate of death, especially in the early years, from disease, accidents, self-destructive behavior. Wanting to stay alive fo