Last week I had a break from radiation for cancer when my husband Larry and I flew to Baltimore, Maryland. Our son Aubrey was the featured soloist with the Baltimore Symphony, and was to perform the Concerto for Tubist by jazz great Wynton Marsalis. I wasn’t going to miss that, no matter what, cancer be damned. (Well, cancer be damned in any case…)
The week before we left, I had the usual daily treatments. Because radiation effects are cumulative, and I had already had four weeks of radiation before that, those treatments landed me in bed for three days, as if I had a bad flu. My poor intestines wailed and complained, making several trips to the loo necessary each hour. I began to worry about our five hour flight. Check the Imodium supply!
We stayed the night before the flight in a hotel at the airport, since our flight was to leave at 6:45 a.m., so we boarded the shuttle at 5:00 a.m. After a few minutes of waiting for all customers, in horror I whispered to Larry, “I need to use the bathroom,” and he said, “Tell the driver now!” I did, promising to be back in two minutes, and ran into the lobby. Fortunately, there was a public bathroom near the entrance, and I was able to get back on the shuttle in under five minutes.
Since we were dead last getting on the Southwest flight (who knew there’s a Group D?), we were separated, in the back, near the bathroom. That was reassuring, but I was in a middle seat, so worried about bothering my aisle seat mate. Fortunately, I only had to venture back there once. The rest of the flight was fairly relaxing.
The week in Baltimore was fabulous. Not only did Aubrey knock it out of the park three times, but Larry also was given an art reception at the home of his East coast representative Bill Nerenberg, where this photomontage work was unveiled:
I couldn’t quite put my finger on why this trip felt so good (other than not being irradiated each day), and finally realized after we arrived home that we were constantly surrounded either by people who were highly creative, or people who loved being around people who were highly creative. Even in a week fraught with election angst, the feeling was positive, and that we were, somehow, moving forward.
I also met with old friends, Beth from high school, Jen from LA, and they were effusive in their support of my health journey. I was advised not to see myself as my illness by someone who had been down a similar road. (I take this to mean in part, don’t label this as good or bad, the way we humans exhaustively label everything.) I was pampered and fed wonderful food, and went on short walks to see what was left of the fall color. I took naps with two beautiful and affectionate Siberian cats.
Now, back in Los Angeles, I’m ready to continue my offensive. One more week of external radiation, then a week of internal radiation, a process that plants radioactive “seeds” in the vaginal area to scare away the (hopefully) last remaining cancer cells, if there are any. The prognosis for this type of cancer treatment is excellent for up to ten years. (It’s probably excellent for anything over ten years, it’s just that there are no studies for that time period.)
My fitness plan is to start running again, possibly do a Christmas 5K, get back to the gym, and gradually rebuild my strength. I hope my nonexistent energy supply returns to normal levels.
All of you readers have been a surprise hidden treasure to me, with many of you checking in to send love and encouragement. I didn’t expect to be writing about my cancer journey, but decided it would be better to shine a bright light on the darkness that frightens me rather than to try to hide it. We are all in this humanity thing together, and my experience so far shows me that it is far better to proceed with backup than to tiptoe and grope around in the dark by myself.
I feel blessed, supported, and full of creative possibilities for the months ahead.
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