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ORIGINAL: dcnovice

Dear Ones ---

I know I haven’t written in a while, and I apologize for being out of touch. There hasn’t been much medical news to report, and the Groundhog Day nature of recent life landed me in a funk I’ve been reluctant to inflict on folks who’ve already endured so much sadness from yours truly.

Today, though, it dawned on me that I keep forgetting to share a bit of bright news. A month or so ago, I took a cab home from work. That’s hardly headline material; I do so each evening, since the bus stop is half a mile from home. What made this cab ride different was the number of bags I brought along. I had my usual shopping bag containing the man-purse (courtesy of my wonderful sister-in-law) that holds my ostomy supplies and the soft, fluffy pillow that makes sitting down feasible. I also had, if memory serves, a bag of gifts and another holding groceries.

The cab pulled into the driveway at home, and I struggled to exit. (It was one of those van cabs, which can be a challenge.) Eventually, I got myself and the bags out, inside, and upstairs. Not till a day or so later, when I next left my apartment, did I discover what I’d left behind—my cane.

Well, I didn’t have time to go buy a new one, so I thought, “Let’s see how this goes.” It went okay. So did the next outing, and the one after that. I’ve gone caneless ever since. I’ve missed it a few times, mostly because it alerts others to stay out of my way, but otherwise I seem to do fine, aside from some wobbliness now and then. And that, I finally realized, is no small blessing.

Miracle number two began this afternoon and blossomed this evening. Ever since my diagnosis, wise folks have told me the value of acupuncture, particularly for relieving chemo-induced exhaustion. I wanted to try it, but engaging one more health provider and setting up one more series of appointments proved a bridge too far. Then came the news yesterday that a colleague had arranged for her acupuncturist to come give some demo sessions this afternoon. I eagerly signed up.

I work on the second floor of the building, and the acupuncturist had set up in one of the meeting rooms on the first. So at half-past three, I took the elevator down to meet her. We talked a bit, then she looked at my tongue and took my pulse. She then placed needles in my arms, hands, legs, and feet. They went in painlessly, and I settled into the soothing music—Gregorian chant, I think—swirling around me. My bottom was a bit sore, so I fidgeted some, but otherwise I sat and waited, not quite sure what I was waiting for. After about 20 minutes, the therapist took the needles out. I thanked her, took her card, and departed—thinking “So this is acupuncture.”

Then strange things started happening.

I walked back to the elevator, eyed the staircase just beyond it, and thought, “Let’s try the stairs.” So up I went. I can’t remember the last time I’d climbed those stairs. Certainly not since the diagnosis. I worked on assorted things, then headed out—by stairs again—to meet a beloved cousin who was in from Illinois. I trekked out to the street, crossed it, and hailed a cab to the hotel where my cousin was staying.

En route, my mind turned to office politics, particularly my dismay that my “temporary” replacement acts as if the job is hers for life. Worrying about whether I’ll ever get “my” magazine back was nothing new. What was new was my mind’s response: “There’s nothing you can do about that right now. What you can do is roll down the window, look at the stunning sky, and enjoy this gorgeous day.” And that’s what I did.

I had a great time catching up with my cousin, then headed across the street to Office Depot—my version of a candy shop. After stocking up on stuff I don’t need, I headed out, prepared to catch a cab. Then came a thought I hadn’t had in ages: “Let’s walk a bit. After all, it’s downhill.” So I walked down the block, waved at my parish church, and reached Rite-Aid. For me, that particular store means one thing: Easter basket stuff!

Making Easter baskets is one of my great joys, so I eagerly began stockpiling things that might delight loved ones. Then I thought, “Hey, while I’m here I can make one for the basket drive at church too.” My Eeyore voice protested, “But I don’t have the list of what should go in the basket.”

Yesterday, I’m positive, things would have ended there. Actually, I’d never have been at Rite-Aid in the first place, since I wouldn’t have believed I had the energy to walk there. Today, though, another part of my brain responded: “Dude, you created this ministry. You can figure it out!” As indeed I did. My inner child had a blast finding school supplies, toys, treats, and (in deference to my inner adult) a few healthcare items to create a wonderful basket. I was having such a good time that, at one point, I literally danced in the aisle as a catchy tune played.

I departed from Rite-Aid laden with Easter goodies, then went another block so I could pop into the magazine store, which I’ve much missed. Finally, I caught a cab home, exhilarated in a way I haven’t been for a long while.

So what went right? Was it the acupuncture? The weather? Seeing my cousin after way too long? Or all of the above? The acupuncture clearly got things started, which was great. I think those needles unlocked a joyful, life-loving part of myself I’d feared was gone forever. And yes, I’ll make an appointment for a full session!

Looking back over the day and eyeing my many bags of Easter loot, a favorite bit of Gerard Manley Hopkins comes to mind:

Let him easter in us,
be a dayspring to the dimness of us,
be a crimson-cresseted east.

I think and hope and pray that may happen this year—for us all.

Cheers,
DC

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What does this mean?:

"Worrying about whether I’ll ever get “my” magazine back was nothing new."

quote:

ORIGINAL: dcnovice

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What does this mean?:

"Worrying about whether I’ll ever get “my” magazine back was nothing new."

I'm a magazine editor by trade. When I got sick, early in 2013, my boss asked me to think of some folks who might fill in. He chose my top candidate. So far, so good. But as the months lengthened, she's shown no sign of seeing herself as temporary. Neither, alas, does my boss. They clearly have a rapport I haven't achieved with him, and they routinely leave me out of key conversations. I feel like I'm in a remake of All About Eve.

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Reeeeeeaalllllly?

So, you write copy?