Throwback Thursday: Tick! Tock!

"Time is nature's way of keeping everything from happening at once"

That's for damn sure! And after clocking in nearly 60 hours in the chemo room, I can honestly and earnestly say that there were times when all I heard was the sound of this clock's second hand. Trying to keep up with the metronome rhythm in my head, I found umpteen ways to pass the time. Reading, napping, snacking, watching my infusions drip, staring at the clock, chatting and laughing with the chemo nurses, surfing the net, striking up conversation with fellow patients in the room and taking my pole for a walk every couple of hours were my usual habits. And if truth be told, I think we all could use a little down time every few weeks. Really, I think I'm on to something here. Maybe there should be centers where we can check in, at our own will, for let's say, 4-6 hours and be forced to do, well, nothing really. Minus the toxic drugs of course, I believe we could all benefit from some voluntary R & R. I know I did and although looking at this particular clock brings some not-so-fond-memories of my first chemo treatment to the forefront of my mind, staying in the present time is an important reminder that we don't have to be doing everything at once. Note to self.

Throwback Thursday: Chemo Through the Eyes of a Child

To this day, this is one of my fave pics because a) I LUV this kid! b) I ADORE his mom! and c) It speaks volumes of what kids might think about cancer and chemo.

But this young lad Jeremy was no chemo rookie as he had watched his grandma finish her chemo for breast cancer from this very room just 2ish months earlier. He was not allowed in the room for my chemo due to his age but his wonderful mom 'Julie-Bunny' was and she had brought me love and flowers for my first treatment. So instead, Jeremy simply stood at the door and stared at me for numerous minutes with bewilderment and a reluctant wave.

Little did I know, he was asking my partner Hil "What is Yog doing in Grandma's chair?" Not, why is Yog in the chemo room, or did Yog have cancer too, but really, what was I doing in his beloved Grandma Zeb's chair?

Having worked with young children for nearly 30 years now, I get where they're coming from with the looks, the blunt questions and forthright comments "Did you loose your part?" "You have a shiny head." "Don't take your hat off." "Do you have the cancer flu?" "I'm gonna go now."  Kids seem to have a simple yet sophisticated way of getting to the point in a manner that most adults just can't seem to manage. They want to know the facts and nothing but the facts just like Jeremy did. He wasn't interested in my emotional well-being or how I was feeling about my very first chemo treatment. His mom was laughing with me, I clearly had a (fake) smile on my face, and was waving back at him with enthusiasm. Next topic. He simply wanted to know why I was bogarting his grandma's chemo chair. Boom. Done deal.

As I continued to watch Jeremy and Hil with great curiosity, my thoughts were all about the good
ju-ju that I had hoped was in store for me. With my lucky necklace, alkaline water, some spiritual trinkets and feathers, I felt compelled to help Jeremy understand what was going on but simply couldn't because I was tethered to the drugs and my chemo pole. Plus, I figured if this chair brought good fortune to Zeb then I was there to cash in on some of that luck; a chair that I coveted for a year and one that I felt slightly possessive of (I did have to relinquish it a few times - with hesitancy) but I did play nice in the chemo room!

In the meantime, I cherish this precious picture, that day and the sweetest face one could ever hope for during one's very first chemo treatment. Good medicine for sure! So, to that, I say a huge THANK YOU to my little red-headed pal - back atcha buddy!

Throwback Thursday: Scared As Hell!

The title of this post says it all. And I do, very much so, recall this day of going into the Cancer Center of Santa Barbara for my very first chemo. Smiles as usual, but underneath it all, I was scared out of my head about what was about to go down in my cancer history. Looking back on it today, I have come to realize that not knowing what lie ahead of me was probably a good thing. I mean really, who needs to know that they're about to sit in a chair for nearly 7 hours getting shot up with toxic, yet life-saving chemicals, have a severe allergic reaction to one of the drugs, and then go home to a chemo coma for the next 10 days without recalling hardly anything. Seriously?! Nobody needs to know that. And that my friends, is why ignorance is bliss!

Throwback Thursday: The Art of Doing Nothing

Having spent an excessive amount of time in bed over the past couple of years, I can now say that I truly know what it's like to have some R & R. Not exactly the kind of relaxation that I would recommend to anyone, but it is interesting how one can spend days and hours at a time doing, well, nothing really. I, for one, have always been a gal on the go but when you have no energy and are fighting nausea, the time I lingered here was actually quite peaceful and serene.

I didn't have the mindset or the focus for books or even movies, so I spent much of my time either on my iPad or simply staring out the window looking at the sun and the moon from my second story bedroom. I even began to relish the sound of wind and palm fronds waving back at me while I laid there for sometimes weeks at a time without ever going downstairs. A lot of time, a lot of silence, a lot of nothing.

As you'll see in the background, I made an inspiration board that sat on top of our little dog's crate that I created to remind me of life and people outside of my room and cancer. And when people started sending me tokens of love in the form of pictures, cards and keepsakes, I thought what better way to stay connected to myself and life. I genuinely treasured staring at my board of pictures, inspirational quotes, my past aunt's artwork, spiritual tokens and my dad's ashes in a leather pouch for many minutes at a time. It was often the first thing I looked at in the morning and the last thing I saw at night.  So, when you really think about it, it was time well spent. And in some strange way, I secretly wish for those days again - not of illness but of quietness, stillness and peace.