We've been home since late Monday night (a day and a half ago), and Patty and I are back at work, and the kids back at school. Our trip was wonderful, and so relaxing that I didn't even compose any blog entries in my mind! Things have been busy since our return, with unpacking and work, so I've been waiting for inspiration on posting. What a delight it was to return and read all of the comments after my last post before we left. I felt well supported and prayed for! I haven't downloaded any pictures from our vacation, but should have some ready by my next post.
While we were away, we swam, snorkeled, sat (or played) on the beach, and generally relaxed. It was wonderful to be away, and to put down all of the details of daily life. Since we were camping, we went to bed early, and read for a while in our tent, and got up with the sun in the morning.
Since we were camping, we had a few camping challenges. The sand fleas and mosquitoes really LOVED Nathaniel and Lucy, and we had some nights with lots of complaining about itchiness and trouble sleeping. We finally figured out how to spray the insect repellent around the tent, tie all of the little ribbons (no zippers in this tent!), and minimize the bugs. And, we had a resident lizard in our tent. We kept encouraging it to eat lots of fleas and mosquitoes, but it had trouble keeping up with the volume.
The beauty of camping at Cinnamon Bay Campground in St. John, USVI, is that the beach was just minutes from our tent. We could roll out of bed and check the water, go for an early swim, stake out some shady territory on the beach, and go back to our site for breakfast. We visited some other beaches and did some hiking, but the kids like staying put once they had made friends, and so we stayed close to the tent many days.
How have I been feeling? Not as good as I would like. I still feel side effects from the oxaliplatin, especially cold sensitivity (but not to cold foods). The warm Caribbean water gave me goose bumps, but fortunately, we had bought a wet suit for me, so I could snorkel without freezing. When I took my cold shower (they don't heat the water at the campground), I was the only one yelping through the cold water as I quickly showered. And the appetite thing really has not improved. My appetite is best in the morning, and diminishes as the day progress. Some days, I can't eat any dinner, although I did discover that baked potatoes sit well. I thought my appetite would return this long after my last infusion, and I could regain some of the weight I've lost. One fun thing about being in the Caribbean is that it was easy to buy Ginger Beer (non-alcoholic), which was zingy and gingery, and tastes like the ginger drink that Tia described how to make in a comment a few posts back. Yummy!
This Friday, I go for my next infusion, and I've had conversations with the oncology nurse, and others about the side effects I'm still feeling. I just hope that means the chemo drugs are still working against the tumors, and that the tumors have not taken advantage of this vacation to grow!
So, pictures and more information soon. For now, back to work!
Showing posts with label sunshine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sunshine. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
"Today is a good day to die"
Please don't panic! I'm not losing my will to live, or contemplating the end, I just had another epiphany today in what may feel like my ongoing litany of living in the moment.
For those of you who have responded to my blog, by posting a response online, or by emailing me, I value the way you are reflecting back to me what speaks to you in what I have to say. Whether or not you are struggling with or have struggled with a cancer diagnosis, or whether you are or have been a caregiver to someone with cancer, whether you are someone who has stumbled on my blog and found it has something to say to you, or whether you are a friend who loves me, I thank you for being part of this online conversation.
Today was a stunningly beautiful late summer day in Boston. The sky a perfect blue, with wispy white clouds providing contrast. The air was warm in the sun, cool in the shade, comfortable with short sleeves, and invigorating to walk in. And walking I was, around 2:00, from Beacon Hill to Back Bay in Boston, to a dental appointment. (Since I like my dentist and was just going to have a fallen-out filling replaced, I had no dread about the appointment, just a sense of purpose.) And, I am moved to say, it was just such a perfect weather and sky day on September 11, 2001 in Boston, spurring memories of that day. Still, moving my body, seeing the interplay of light and shadow on the ground from trees and leaves, I felt transported to a state of pure joy. It was a moment, a moment that reminded me of this line: "Today is a good day to die."
The first time I heard someone say it and mean it was during a two week canoe trip with 15 other adults on the north-flowing Harricanaw River in Canada, about fifteen years ago. We were more than halfway through our wilderness adventure of canoeing to James Bay, and one morning we awoke to a sandy river beach, a gorgeous blue sky, and a perfect temperature. One of my fellow travelers, Terri, said, "Today is a good day to die." I didn't initially know how to take his comment, but then I got it. We were challenging our bodies, experiencing terrain new to us, living in the moment. We were in the right place, at the right time, and our trip was beginning to flow like the river. If our lives had ended that day, we could have died happy, knowing we were living in the moment and doing something we loved.
As I thought about sharing my insight from this afternoon, I worried that some of you, my friends, might panic. I briefly considered the title of "This moment is a good moment to live, not die," because it was a feeling of the moment, but the title definitely lacks punch. When I left the dentist about 90 minutes after my "moment," the air was cooler, the sun not so bright, and though I hoped that the feeling of perfection would return, it didn't. Because I think that it's not really about "perfect days" [for dying, or for living], but rather about "perfect moments" for living, and for realizing that, in those moments, we can be transported beyond our ordinary selves. In that moment this aftenoon, I felt the rightness of the day and my place in it. For that moment, nothing else mattered. Even cancer.
For those of you who have responded to my blog, by posting a response online, or by emailing me, I value the way you are reflecting back to me what speaks to you in what I have to say. Whether or not you are struggling with or have struggled with a cancer diagnosis, or whether you are or have been a caregiver to someone with cancer, whether you are someone who has stumbled on my blog and found it has something to say to you, or whether you are a friend who loves me, I thank you for being part of this online conversation.
Today was a stunningly beautiful late summer day in Boston. The sky a perfect blue, with wispy white clouds providing contrast. The air was warm in the sun, cool in the shade, comfortable with short sleeves, and invigorating to walk in. And walking I was, around 2:00, from Beacon Hill to Back Bay in Boston, to a dental appointment. (Since I like my dentist and was just going to have a fallen-out filling replaced, I had no dread about the appointment, just a sense of purpose.) And, I am moved to say, it was just such a perfect weather and sky day on September 11, 2001 in Boston, spurring memories of that day. Still, moving my body, seeing the interplay of light and shadow on the ground from trees and leaves, I felt transported to a state of pure joy. It was a moment, a moment that reminded me of this line: "Today is a good day to die."
The first time I heard someone say it and mean it was during a two week canoe trip with 15 other adults on the north-flowing Harricanaw River in Canada, about fifteen years ago. We were more than halfway through our wilderness adventure of canoeing to James Bay, and one morning we awoke to a sandy river beach, a gorgeous blue sky, and a perfect temperature. One of my fellow travelers, Terri, said, "Today is a good day to die." I didn't initially know how to take his comment, but then I got it. We were challenging our bodies, experiencing terrain new to us, living in the moment. We were in the right place, at the right time, and our trip was beginning to flow like the river. If our lives had ended that day, we could have died happy, knowing we were living in the moment and doing something we loved.
As I thought about sharing my insight from this afternoon, I worried that some of you, my friends, might panic. I briefly considered the title of "This moment is a good moment to live, not die," because it was a feeling of the moment, but the title definitely lacks punch. When I left the dentist about 90 minutes after my "moment," the air was cooler, the sun not so bright, and though I hoped that the feeling of perfection would return, it didn't. Because I think that it's not really about "perfect days" [for dying, or for living], but rather about "perfect moments" for living, and for realizing that, in those moments, we can be transported beyond our ordinary selves. In that moment this aftenoon, I felt the rightness of the day and my place in it. For that moment, nothing else mattered. Even cancer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)