www.cancermonster.net

I am being tested. Those of you who pray against such things? I could use some help with this test.

Dylan Thomas and I think alike. “Do not go gentle into the good night.” Thomas’ father, once a strong man, was showing weakness. His son was getting scared for him. “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Dylan was telling his father to fight, to complain, to kick and scream, just don’t give up.

“Do not go gentle into the good night.”

This morning, two inches or so above the already widened line drawn around my Monster, is hard under the skin. Hard across my side, the oblique muscles that I was told would be effected by the radiation. I am not sure, but it seems too early in my course of treatment to be effected like that. But I want to believe the hardness is reaction and not a redoubling of growth.

I want to believe it.

I am going for a walk.

I wish I could walk out to the dock and stare into the Siletz River. I wish I could wave at the fisherman and smile at the seals chasing the fish, beating the fisherman to their catch. I see the reflection of it though, here in my mind’s eye.

I get to go home tomorrow for the weekend. Whatever pain I might feel on the two and a half hour trip will be welcome. They say the ends justify the means. I want to look into the eyes of my babies and hold them tightly. I want to feel my husband’s love with my body and not just my heart. I want to go home.

For today, I will have to be content to go back to my room where I can cry in private. Why is this happening to me? A Fluke my . . . Ya, mine. The other day, while discussing the size and growth of my tumor, Dr G explained that when you remove only part of a cancer, you are giving room and fuel to the rest of it to feed on the blood and grow in the space. As I see it, the fluid filled sack that was left after my first surgery was like yolk to the embryo. I am angry.

Dan just called me on his way to work. I listened to his plan for the day, what work he will get done. Business as usual.

He told me about a conversation he had this morning with our 8 year old daughter. Jaymi is our caretaker child. Tending mostly to put her needs behind. I taught her that when she needed attention, she should just say it. We have this game. She taps me on the forehead and says, “Hey old lady, I need some attention!” And then we both laugh so long she forgets what she wanted to say.

Dan told me that Jaymi came to him this morning and tapped him on the forehead.

“Hey old man!”

“What, do you need some attention?”

As he held her, he promised that he would always be her daddy, would always take care of her and provide for her. He said to her, “Sometimes, words just don’t express the love you feel for someone. We should come up with something just between us that can represent our love.”

They settled on “twin hearts.”

Twin hearts. What a code between a daddy and his little girl. Twin hearts.

That did it. I was planning not to cry to Dan this morning. I was planning not to worry him this day. Let him go to work without my junk. But I failed. “Twin Hearts” did me in. “I want to come home.”

I feel like the stereo-typical pregnant woman, crying at a drop of the hat. Don’t tell anyone! Oopps, too late.

Twin Hearts.

10:00a
I have had my breakfast and I still have some time to wait for my 11:00 appointment with the alien ray gun. When I am lying face down on the table and the ladies start calling out coordinates in their strange technical language, I can’t help feeling I am on the bridge of a starship. The bridge crew lays in the spatial destination and sets a course for the unknown. “Make is so, Number 1.” Then the ship powers up and whirs and spins around me. I wait for the captain to give the word.

“Engage.”

And I am off. Flying through the universe. Past the stars my little boy tells me about. “Mommy, I love you past the Love Stars and back.” So every morning I fly past the Love Stars and circle back to earth. Then the ship powers down and I land on my feet. The crew pats me on the back and says, “You did great!” I didn’t do anything but lie there without moving. But I guess that is a skill worthy of praise.

I have had only three treatments, but it seems like a million stars ago that I came to town to begin.

Today is my two months anniversary. Time to take off.

Afternoon

In spite of the pain, I walked across to the treatment center today. Maybe it was because of the pain. Maybe it was to thumb my nose at the Monster. No maybe about it.

I will not cry here today. I will not . . . “I’m baa-ack!” I walked in with my spirit high and out in front as a shield.

“Did anyone ever tell you that when you start calling out coordinates you sound like the bridge crew of a starship?” That got them giggling. And I couldn’t stop giggling. I didn’t do so great at doing nothing today. I told my crew that I was going to find a glow-in-the-dark star chart to put under my toilet seat pillow so I can see where they are sending me.

“Engage.” And I was off. Past the Love Stars and back lickity-split. See you tomorrow.

Tim called with news that his mother’s friend found a bench seat for the work van. He will pick it up for me on Saturday. I have come to love the boy that stole my daughter’s heart. He is a fine young man. I hugged them together last night and told them that relationships take work, but it’s work well spent. Kelli and Tim compliment each other. They are really too young to have figured it all out, but I think they are on the right path. Sometimes things like this just fall into place.

I have shared a lot already today. Maybe I will write more this evening. Who knows. I feel better for the telling. Go figure.

Tomorrow I get to go home.