Round Five of the chemotherapy started yesterday. I have five infusions left. I can see the end of all of this but I know the remainder requires stamina. I slept most of the afternoon and into the evening. I got up to force fed myself and to drink fluids as the doctor is telling me to push fluids. A friend dropped by unannounced with food–again, reinforcing my belief that I have everything I need. Another friend dropped off muffins later that evening.
The area that I struggle with most right now is feeding myself. After I got sick mid-November, I have not been able to eat as well and the doctor seems to think I may be dehydrated as well. All I know is that I have very little appetite and my ability to taste is compromised. The metallic taste in my mouth overrides everything. I know and trust my body but I know right now that my body is wrong. I must eat. I cannot keep dropping pounds. I need nutrients. The fatigue is probably now compounded by not having enough fuel and so I try to cajole my body into eating, convincing it that it needs the nourishment. I give thanks for food, knowing that not everyone has meals during the day. The trauma to my body continues and I find it exhausting.
I missed a gathering last night that I had hoped to get to. A small group of of us are reading a book about Pope Francis’ leadership style. I was looking forward to the mental stimulation of a discussion on a topic near and dear to my heart but soon enough I became aware that attending was not going to happen. Tuesdays will be a write-off probably for the remainder of my treatments.
I continue to let go of desires and expectations and put my body first. I hold fast to hope and even though not every moment is joyful, I still find myself dancing without even thinking in the kitchen as I prepare my morning smoothie. Today, I tried to clean the living room a bit. My place is a disaster area and I know that the chaos does not add calmness although I feel no guilt unless I have a visitor.
The twinkle lights are up and soon the tree will be decorated in full. Hope hangs in the air and on the tree. I try to stay in the moment and trust the Great Physician solely. He has come among us once and he is coming again. Let’s wait together in joyful hope.
How have you and your body not worked together for its own good?
Where are you hanging hope these days?
Hope hangs in the air
and glistens on the tree
Hope hovers quietly
waiting to be acknowledged
in the darker moments