I Need a Miracle
First, the word on Mayo is that I won’t qualify because my ovarian cancer presents in loose fluid, not tumors, making it impossible to measure by the study’s standards. So, Mayo is out. Apparently Mayo wasn't the miracle I've been looking for.
My bestie and I had a lovely time at staying at a cottage along the North Shore. Our First day there was about as perfect as you can get, the food was outstanding, and I will admit we ate and drank to our heart's delight. Our cabin was right on the lake and we took advantage of the fire pits at the shore's edge.
By day two, I was losing energy. Sad to think we were right there by the rocks and I couldn't step out onto them. I simply couldn't feel the ground enough through my shoes (due to the painfully numbing neuropathy) to walk safely, so all I could do was look. But looking was a banquet in and of itself.
By the third day I was undeniably uncomfortable with shortness of breath and my tummy was so distended, it felt as if it would explode--all of which means cancer cells were leaking from the peritoneum into the chest, pleura and upper belly area. We took our time driving home enjoying the fall colors and some of our favorite stops along the way.
Yesterday, I was scheduled to see my oncologist as a regular follow up to my last two Emergency visits. When I arrived, the nurse said, "We'll start you in this small room and then we'll move you to a larger room when one opens up."
I didn't understand this at all because I always see my doctor in the small room. But I didn't ask because she was already efficiently wrapping the blood pressure cuff around my arm and taking my temp, getting my port ready for the blood work.
I don't remember exactly when it was during this process that I learned I was scheduled for chemo. I barely was able to contain the explosion of tears and brutal animal cries that ripped out of my eyes and lungs before the nurse left the room. My poor bestie just looked at me, tears leaking out of her eyes too.
Chemo? Again?
That's when one of my divine energies reminded me that I have many times asked for things to be very clear. For there to be no ambiguity.
Well... there is no ambiguity about how aggressive the cancer inside me is. Currently, Western medical science says unless I start chemo for the fourth time, I will be gone in a month, maybe two. Chemo gives me six months to a year. So yesterday, I agreed to chemo once again for the next 5-6 months. Not because it will cure me, but because it may keep me alive long enough for a breakthrough.
It makes me angry to think that ovarian cancer will needlessly claim yet another human life. My life. And then I remind myself, new discoveries are made daily.
I need one of those miraculous discoveries. Or maybe the miracle has nothing to do with Western science. Whatever the miracle is, however it comes, I need it, I’ve asked for it. I believe a miracle for me lies within life’s possibilities.
Anger. Fear. Two really behemoth words in my world right now. Sometimes these emotions crowd out my ability to believe in The Big Miracle and yet, as I said, I believe a miracle for me lies within life’s possibilities.
There is another powerful word in my world right now. LOVE.
I feel it from all of you, as well as other friends and family. I feel it from the Divine-All. I feel it for myself, and I ask to remain open to the journey.
And when I find myself worrying about how to live my life as if today is my last, and wondering if I’ve done everything I need to do, said everything—especially the I love you’s—is my list of passwords up to date? Family contacts? Friends? Bank accounts? Insurance? Have I done everything I can to make my passing easier for others… And what about me? There’s that trip to Italy I’ve wanted to take for years. And wasn’t I planning on falling in love again sometime before I pass? Has my life been meaningful? Have I lived a good life??? Have I???
...When I find myself worrying about all these things and realizing I just don't have the energy for any of it, my primary Spiritual Guide comes to me and reminds me to live in the now. To make my grateful list. And that's how we (me, and all my divine friends) get through it.
Soft breezes to all.
Love,
~Wind
PS: they took nearly 7 pounds of fluid from my belly and left pleura yesterday, and I'm feeling so much better.
My bestie and I had a lovely time at staying at a cottage along the North Shore. Our First day there was about as perfect as you can get, the food was outstanding, and I will admit we ate and drank to our heart's delight. Our cabin was right on the lake and we took advantage of the fire pits at the shore's edge.
By day two, I was losing energy. Sad to think we were right there by the rocks and I couldn't step out onto them. I simply couldn't feel the ground enough through my shoes (due to the painfully numbing neuropathy) to walk safely, so all I could do was look. But looking was a banquet in and of itself.
By the third day I was undeniably uncomfortable with shortness of breath and my tummy was so distended, it felt as if it would explode--all of which means cancer cells were leaking from the peritoneum into the chest, pleura and upper belly area. We took our time driving home enjoying the fall colors and some of our favorite stops along the way.
Yesterday, I was scheduled to see my oncologist as a regular follow up to my last two Emergency visits. When I arrived, the nurse said, "We'll start you in this small room and then we'll move you to a larger room when one opens up."
I didn't understand this at all because I always see my doctor in the small room. But I didn't ask because she was already efficiently wrapping the blood pressure cuff around my arm and taking my temp, getting my port ready for the blood work.
I don't remember exactly when it was during this process that I learned I was scheduled for chemo. I barely was able to contain the explosion of tears and brutal animal cries that ripped out of my eyes and lungs before the nurse left the room. My poor bestie just looked at me, tears leaking out of her eyes too.
Chemo? Again?
That's when one of my divine energies reminded me that I have many times asked for things to be very clear. For there to be no ambiguity.
Well... there is no ambiguity about how aggressive the cancer inside me is. Currently, Western medical science says unless I start chemo for the fourth time, I will be gone in a month, maybe two. Chemo gives me six months to a year. So yesterday, I agreed to chemo once again for the next 5-6 months. Not because it will cure me, but because it may keep me alive long enough for a breakthrough.
It makes me angry to think that ovarian cancer will needlessly claim yet another human life. My life. And then I remind myself, new discoveries are made daily.
I need one of those miraculous discoveries. Or maybe the miracle has nothing to do with Western science. Whatever the miracle is, however it comes, I need it, I’ve asked for it. I believe a miracle for me lies within life’s possibilities.
Anger. Fear. Two really behemoth words in my world right now. Sometimes these emotions crowd out my ability to believe in The Big Miracle and yet, as I said, I believe a miracle for me lies within life’s possibilities.
There is another powerful word in my world right now. LOVE.
I feel it from all of you, as well as other friends and family. I feel it from the Divine-All. I feel it for myself, and I ask to remain open to the journey.
And when I find myself worrying about how to live my life as if today is my last, and wondering if I’ve done everything I need to do, said everything—especially the I love you’s—is my list of passwords up to date? Family contacts? Friends? Bank accounts? Insurance? Have I done everything I can to make my passing easier for others… And what about me? There’s that trip to Italy I’ve wanted to take for years. And wasn’t I planning on falling in love again sometime before I pass? Has my life been meaningful? Have I lived a good life??? Have I???
...When I find myself worrying about all these things and realizing I just don't have the energy for any of it, my primary Spiritual Guide comes to me and reminds me to live in the now. To make my grateful list. And that's how we (me, and all my divine friends) get through it.
Soft breezes to all.
Love,
~Wind
PS: they took nearly 7 pounds of fluid from my belly and left pleura yesterday, and I'm feeling so much better.
