After the 5K Give a Breath run on June 1st, my life took a bit of a turn and I ended up in hospital for four days. I'm going to recount what happened in some detail and it may be a bit graphic for those who don't live in a medical world. I tell the story as a reminder that immuno-compromised doesn't mean "wearing a mask" or jump to the head of the line in ER. It can be life-threatening.
Life has had some pretty wild ups and downs over the last few weeks.
Beginning with the one of the joys though, I had the pleasure of pet sitting for a friend. I looked after their bubs (a less stigmatized name for pet rats)for a few weeks in early May while they accessed Ioboga treatment for chronic pain.(https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/05/health/ibogaine-psychedelic-opioid-addiction.html) The bubs provided a lot of cuddles and joy in a busy time. I'm seriously tempted to look into a couple for my tiny space. I do miss having pets.
Scheduling
Planning seemed pretty straight forward but as the weeks passed with no chemo appointment, I started struggling. The low point came on a Friday afternoon when I went for my normal run and after 4K had to stop. I was coughing badly and couldn't stop. I finished the last kilometer hobbling and doubled over. I found myself short of breath on several occasions and it scared me. Is this how I'm going to die? Waiting for a charge nurse and a booking clerk to find a slot in schedule for me?
"Strangely you have more reason to live after you learn that you are dying. There's more poignancy to moments. Joy in my sorrow. Death lingers in even the most innocuous of moments. Enjoy the moments of gratitude. Recognize the beauty and the tragedy in the world around me. There is an awesome amount of grace that I have been extended. The least I can do is return that grace."
January and February were not quiet months.
Grant review for Health Care Unburdened took over January. As the only patient on the review board, I was in a unique position to raise questions and concerns about grants. The CMA (Canadian Medical Association) will announce the winners in April and I will have more to say then.
February turned into a scramble to catch up on all the things that had slid into the background. Applying for more conferences, catching up on webinars and reading, and most importantly reconnecting with the others in my life filled my days.
As I started writing this I was waiting for results from my bronchoscopy. In the meantime I was contemplating what is a major milestone in my cancer journey. To some extent I have withdrawn to think about this on my own. I was expecting results on the 12th but a mixup in a changed appointment resulted in the oncologist not having the results to give us the information that we needed.
In the last of my fall commitments I travelled to Halifax for the CCRC (Canadian Cancer Research Conference.) Before I left though I had a meeting with my oncologist. This time I didn't get the expected "remarkably unremarkable" comment from him.
I don't recommend taking an exotic international trip two days after the 3 day novel contest ends.
This will be the fourth year I have written a novella in the 3 day contest. Each time it truly is an amazing experience. I started on Saturday morning with an idea, a character or two, and a rough plot (maybe), and then put my fingers to the keyboard. There is something about the boundaries and pressure of time that keep the fingers moving.
For years I have worn a hat, a wool Cowichan style in winter and a broad brimmed soft hat in summer. When I went to the first Cancer Connection mentor training workshop, folks commented on my red hat a lot. And it became a "thing." The first red toque was a microfleece picked up at a dollar store. Last Christmas I set out to knit a wool version with the idea of doing a few to share with my boys. It was an unmitigated disaster. You can not learn to knit from YouTube. Or at least I can't.
